*y*&a 


UC-NRLF 


► 


/ 


*.  _.,,.,;,  -,Vr( 


Mrs.    WALTER    BOWNE 
*rom  a  miniature  by  Malbone,  in  possession  of  W.  B,  Lawrenc 


TOTYPE,     F      UIERSTADT, 


A  GIRL'S   LIFE  EIGHTY 
YEARS  AGO 


SELECTIONS    FROM   THE   LETTERS    OF 
ELIZA   SOUTHGATE  BOWNE 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 
CLARENCE  COOK 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH  PORTRAITS  AND  VIEWS 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1887 


t 


.fr* 


Copyright,  1887, 
Br  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SON& 

7  Z-i-04 


7 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


MRS.  WALTER  <B01VNE     ....    Frontispiece 

Miniature  by  Malbone 

Facing  Page 

DR.  ROBERT  SOUTHGATE—MRS.  SOUTHGATE     5 

From  Silhouettes  in  the  possession  of  W.  B.  Lawrence,  Esq. 

MRS.  JOHN  "DERBY  (Eleanor  Coffin)      .      .      .    22 

Miniature   by  Malbone,  in  possession   of  Miss  Rogers,  of 
Boston 

RUFUS  KING 42 

From  a  painting  by   Woods 

MRS.  RUFUS  KING 68 

After  a  portrait  by  Trumbull 

MR.  E.  HASKET  "DERBY,  OF  SALEM  (M.  28, 

1794) "o 

From  a  Miniature  in  possession  of  Dr.  Hasket  Derby,  of 
Boston 

MRS.  RICHARD  "DERBY  (Martha  Coffin)     .       .  116 

Miniature  by  Malbone,  in  possession  of  Mrs.  Peabody,  of 
Boston 

THE  VAN  RENSSELAER  MANOR  HOUSE       .      130 


xii  List  of  Illustrations 

Facing  Page 

MR.  WALTER  BOWNE 140 

Miniature  by  Malbone 

THE  LYMAN  PLACE-WALTHAM       .       .       .       148 


LUCIA  WADSWORTH—ZILPAH  WADSWORTH  15$ 

From  Silhouettes  in  the  possession  of  W.  B.  Law?-etue,  Esq. 

SUNSWICK—THE  DELAFIELD  HOUSE,  HELL 

GATE,  LONG  ISLAND      .      ....      167 

THE  "BOWNE  HOUSE,  FLUSHING    ....  795 
Erected  1661 

JAMES  GORE  KING 206 

From  a  Miniature  in  the  possession  of  A.  Grade  King,  Esq. 

CHARLES  KING 210 

From  a  Miniature  in  the  possession  of  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Martin. 


INTRODUCTION. 


ELIZA  SOUTHGATE,  the  writer  of  the  letters  here  collected, 
was  the  daughter  of  Robert  and  Mary  Southgate,  and  was 
born  in  Scarborough,  Me.,  September  24,  1783.  She  was  the 
third  in  a  family  of  twelve  children.  Her  father  came  of  Eng- 
lish stock,  and  was  born  in  Leicester,  Mass.,  where  his  family 
had  long  been  settled.  Here  he  studied  medicine,  and  when  he 
had  finished  his  course  he  left  l^is  native  place,  where  there  ap- 
peared to  be  no  room  for  another  practitioner,  and  settled  in  Scar- 
borough. We  are  told  that,  after  the  primitive  fashion  of  the  time, 
he  set  out  to  seek  his  fortune  on  horseback,  with  all  his  worldly 
goods  in  a  pair  of  saddle-bags.  In  this  way  he  entered  Scarbor- 
ough, where  his  character  and  talents  were  not  long  in  getting  him 
a  good  position.  He  had  picked  up  some  law,  and  in  a  new  and 
small  community  was  able  to  make  his  knowledge  useful,  so  that  in 
course  of  time  he  was  appointed  a  Judge  in  the  Court  of  Common 
Pleas. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  Scarborough  before  he  married  Mary, 
the  daughter  of  Richard  King,  a  large  landholder  in  the  District 
of  Maine.  "  Pretty  Polly  King,"  as  Mary  was  familiarly  called  by 
her  friends,  was  the  second  daughter  of  Mr.  King  by  his  first  wife. 
The  eldest  child  by  this  marriage  was  Rufus — well  known  for 
the  distinguished  part  he  played  in  the  early  history  of  our  coun- 
try. A  third  child,  Pauline,  married  Mr.  Porter ;  their  son  Moses, 
whose  name  often  occurs  in  these  letters,  was  a  young  man  of 
great  promise.  He  engaged  his  cousin  Eliza  in  a  correspondence, 
after  the  somewhat  formal  fashion  of  the  time  ;  only  her  letters  re- 
main to  indicate  its  character,  but  they  are  among  her  best.     In 


iv  Introduction. 

her  lively  tilting  on  the  well-worn  subject  of  the  education  of  the 
sexes,  the  lady  shows  herself  a  clever  mistress  of  the  foils,  and 
there  are  not  wanting  indications  that  the  combatants  did  not 
escape  from  the  encounter  heart-whole.  But  however  this  may 
have  been,  all  was  ended  by  the  sudden  death  of  Mr.  Porter  from 
a  fever  caught  in  boarding  an  infected  vessel  in  the  transaction 
of  some  necessary  business. 

Scarborough  was  not  a  large  town,  but  its  position  as  a  seaport 
gave  it  some  importance,  and  the  society  was  far  above  what  is 
ordinarily  met  with  in  such  places.  The  Hunnewells,  Bragdons, 
Bacons,  Emersons,  Wadsworths,  names  that  are  distinguished  in 
the  social  history  of  New  England,  belong  to  the  early  settlers  of 
the  neighborhood,  and  are  still  represented  there.  Zilpah,  one 
of  the  daughters  of  General  Peleg  Wadsworth,  who  are  frequently 
mentioned  in  these  letters,  married  Stephen  Longfellow,  a  cousin 
of  Mrs.  Southgate,  and  became  the  mother  of  the  poet,  Henry 
Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

The  Southgates  gave  their  children  the  best  education  to  be  had 
in  those  times.  They  were  first  sent  to  school  in  Scarborough  ; 
but,  later,  were  placed — to  be  "  finished,"  as  the  old  phrase  was — at 
boarding-schools  near  Boston.  When  she  was  fourteen  years  old, 
Eliza  was  sent  to  a  school  at  Medford,  and  a  letter  written  from 
that  place  gives  a  rather  uncomfortable  notion  of  her  surroundings. 
In  these  few  childish  lines,  however,  the  character  of  the  woman 
is  plainly  prefigured — her  observation,  her  power  of  clear,  terse 
statement,  her  playful  humor,  her  cheerful  submission  to  duty,  and 
her  affection  for  her  parents,  making  her  willing  to  put  up  with 
whatever  was  disagreeable  rather  than  give  them  uneasiness. 
However,  Dr.  Southgate,  as  a  physician,  could  see  that  a  school 
where  the  pupils  slept,  four  beds  in  a  small  chamber  and  two  in  a 
bed,  was  not  the  place  for  a  growing  girl,  and  he  therefore  took 
his  daughter  away  and  put  her  at  the  school  at  Medford,  kept  by 
Mrs.  Rowson.  This,  for  its  time,  was  an  excellent  school,  and 
Miss  Southgate  remained  there  until  the  day  came  when  "  stu- 
dies" were  to  be  thrown  aside,  and  "life"  was  to  begin.  She 
seems  by  her  letters  to  have  been  very  happy  while  under  Mrs. 
Rowson's  care — the  varied  and  somewhat  romantic  life  led  by 
that  lady  perhaps  fitted  her,  better  than  would  have  been  thought, 


Introduction.  v 

to  be  the  guide  and  friend  of  a  girl  of  Eliza  Southgate's  peculiar 
character.* 

Her  life  after  she  left  school  is  so  fully  described  in  her  letters 
that  there  is  no  need  of  following  it  in  detail.  She  tells  her  own 
story  far  better  than  another  could  do  it,  and  much  that  would 
inevitably  be  dull  and  commonplace  narrated  in  plain  prose, 
sparkles  with  life  under  the  swift  pen  of  this  lively  girl.  She  tells 
of  her  visit  to  Saratoga,  with  her  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hasket 
Derby  ;  and  no  school-girl  of  our  time,  writing  from  Paris  or  Lon- 
don, could  describe  the  wonders  of  her  tour  with  greater  ecstasy. 
She  sees  this  new  corner  of  the  world  with  the  miracle-working 
eye  of  youth,  and  accepts  everything  with  youth's  unquestioning 
heart.  Previous  letters  had  described  Salem  in  terms  equally 
ecstatic,  and  after  her  account  of  the  country-seat  of  the  Derbys, 
there  could  be  nothing  left  to  say  of  Versailles  or  St.  Cloud.  But 
what  then  ?  Was  not  this  a  fine  old  country-house,  with  its  formal 
garden,  its  provincial  but  still  solid  stateliness,  and,  above  all,  with 
its  hearty,  cheerful  hospitality  ?  It  was  our  heroine's  first  glimpse 
of  the  gay  world  of  fashion  of  her  time,  and  she  enjoyed  it  to  the  full. 

The  story  of  her  first  meeting  with  her  future  husband,  of  her 
engagement  to  him,  of  their  wedding-journey,  is  told  with  the  sim- 
plicity and  unaffected  candor  that  were  characteristic  of  her.  The 
letter  to  her  mother  in  which  she  asks  her  consent  to  the  marriage, 
shows  mother  and  daughter  in  the  happiest  light ;  it  is  the  highest 
praise  that  could  be  awarded  the  training  the  Southgates  had  given 
their  children.  Perfect  love  had  bred  perfect  confidence,  and  it 
is  certainly  pleasant  to  know  that  the  hearts  and  judgments  of  the 
parents  could  only  confirm  the  decision  of  their  daughter.  Mr. 
Walter  Bowne  was  everything  that  the  most  exacting  parents 
could  wish  as  the  husband  of  a  daughter  so  dear  to  them. 

*  Mrs.  Rowson's  story  is  well  known.  She  was  an  Englishwoman,  Susanna  Haswell, 
the  daughter  of  an  officer  in  the  navy,  and  was  brought  to  America  by  her  father  in  1767, 
when  she  was  only  five  years  old.  Their  ship  was  wrecked  on  Lovell's  Island,  in  Boston 
Harbor,  and  they  lived  at  Nantasket  for  nearly  ten  years,  when  they  went  back  to  Eng- 
land. There  she  married  William  Rowson,  a  musician,  and  went  upon  the  stage.  In 
I795-96  we  find  her  acting  in  Baltimore  and  Boston.  She  published  several  comedies  and 
a  number  of  novels  ;  one  of  these,  "  Charlotte  Temple,"  gained  great  popularity.  She 
died  at  Boston  in  1824.  She  taught  school  in  several  places— at  Medford,  at  Newton,  and 
at  Boston,  and  was  very  successful. 


vi  Introduction. 

But  the  new  life  of  happiness  thus  entered  upon  was  brief,  and 
in  a  few  months  more  than  six  years  it  had  come  to  an  end.  In 
1803  Mr.  Bowne  and  Miss  Southgate  were  married.  In  1806 
their  first  child,  a  boy,  named  Walter,  after  his  father,  was  born  ; 
and  two  years  later,  in  July,  1808,  came  their  second  child,  a  girl, 
named  Mary,  after  Mrs.  Bowne's  mother.  After  the  birth  of  this 
child,  Mrs.  Bowne  did  not  recover  her  strength,  and  as  winter  was 
coming  on,  the  medical  men  recommended  a  sea-voyage  and  a 
visit  to  a  warmer  climate.  It  was  determined  to  send  the  inva- 
lid to  Charleston,  S.  C;  and  accordingly  Mrs.  Bowne  set  out,  ac- 
companied by  her  sister  Octavia  and  her  husband,  Mr.  Browne, 
leaving  Mr.  Bowne  in  New  York,  where  he  had  some  business- 
affairs  to  settle  before  he  should  join  his  wife  later  in  the  season. 
Unhappily,  the  sea- voyage  proved  a  disastrous  experiment ;  and 
when  the  party  arrived  at  Charleston,  Mrs.  Bowne  was  in  so  en- 
feebled a  condition  from  its  effects  that  her  sister  gave  up  all  hope 
of  saving  her  life.  She  failed  rapidly,  and  died  on  the  20th  of 
February,  only  two  months  after  her  arrival.  Mr.  Bowne,  who,  in 
common  with  her  family,  had  probably  no  idea  of  the  serious  nature 
of  his  wife's  illness  when  she  left  New  York,  yet  made  all  the  haste 
he  could  to  follow  her,  but  had  the  inexpressible  grief  to  arrive  too 
late.  His  only  consolation  was  in  the  fact  that  her  suffering  had 
been  brief,  and  that  her  departure  was  serene,  while  all  that  a 
sister's  affectionate  devotion  could  avail  to  comfort  her  had  been 
given  without  stint  from  a  full  heart ;  and  even  strangers  in  a 
strange  city  had  been  moved,  by  the  beauty  and  loveliness  of 
this  young  mother,  and  by  her  pitiful  case,  deprived  of  husband 
and  children,  to  shield  her  and  cheer  her  with  all  that  the  warm- 
hearted Southern  hospitality  knows  so  well  to  bestow.  She  was 
buried  in  Charleston  and  her  grave  was  hid  in  flowers  sent  by  the 
people  of  the  town  and  the  neighboring  plantations,  many  of  whom 
had  only  heard  her  name  and  story. 

THERE  is  little  need  for  an  editor's  help  in  following  the  story 
of  the  life  which  these  letters  portray.  They  are,  in  fact,  an 
almost  complete  diary  of  that  life,  for  the  earliest  bears  date  when 
the  writer  was  a  child  at  boarding-school,  and  the  last  was  written 
only  a  few  days  before  she  died.     Of  the  years  that  came  between, 


Introduction.  vii 

the  record  is  almost  uninterrupted  ;  so  that  the  task  confided  to  me 
resolves  itself  into  little  more  than  a  statement  of  the  few  facts  con- 
nected with  the  personal  and  family  history  of  their  author,  that 
naturally  have  no  place  in  the  letters  themselves. 

No  doubt  we  have  gained  much,  so  far  as  the  material  -con- 
venience of  the  great  public  life  is  concerned,  from  the  inventions 
that,  for  all  practical  purposes,  have  reduced  time  and  space  to 
comparative  insignificance.  We  have,  however,  lost  some  good 
things,  which  those  who  lived  in  younger  days  must  always  regret, 
and  for  which  there  is  small  compensation  in  the  material  gain  we 
have  received  in  exchange.  Among  these  losses,  that  of  letter- 
writing  is  perhaps  the  most  serious.  A  whole  world  of  innocent 
enjoyment  for  contemporaries  and  for  posterity  has  been  blotted 
out,  and,  so  far  as  appears,  nothing  is  taking  its  place.  Is  it  the 
newspapers  ?  But  how  scattered,  how  disjointed,  how  impersonal, 
the  record  they  contain  !  We  might  as  well  hope  to  recall  the 
charm  of  some  old  garden  loved  in  youth,  by  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  a  herbarium  in  which  its  flowers  had  been  pressed,  as  to 
make  the  domestic  life  of  a  time  gone  by,  live  again  in  reading 
the  files  of  a  newspaper.  Nor  do  memoirs  or  biographies  give 
us  what  we  want.  They  are  too  formal,  too  self-conscious  ;  they 
want  the  spontaneity,  the  vividness  of  impression,  the  lightness  of 
the  recording  hand.     These  things  letters  give  us,  and  letters  alone. 

Science  has  many  fairy-tales  to  tell  us,  but  the  most  magical  of 
all  her  inventions  is  that  toy,  the  phonograph,  invented  by  our  own 
Edison.  It  listens  to  the  words  that  are  whispered  in  its  ear,  to 
the  songs  that  are  sung  to  it,  to  the  gossip  that  buzzes  about  it,  and 
the  record  made  on  its  revolving  surface,  replaced  at  any  time 
upon  the  cylinder — after  the  lapse  of  an  hour,  or  of  a  hundred 
years— will  repeat  what  has  been  confided  to  it  in  the  very  voice  of 
the  speaker,  with  every  tone  and  every  inflection  as  clear  as  when 
first  it  spoke. 

Familiar  letters  are  privileged  to  play  the  same  magical  part. 
To  the  readers  of  successive  generations,  they  speak  with  the  living 
voice  of  the  writer  ;  they  recall  the  fugitive  emotions,  the  joys,  the 
sorrows,  the  whims,  the  passions,  and  as  we  read  we  persuade  our- 
selves that  we  are  part  and  parcel  of  the  times  they  record. 

What  a  difference  in  our  enjoyment  it  would  make,  were  the  let- 


viii  Introduction. 

ters  of  Fanny  Burney  and  Horace  Walpole  taken  from  us  !  Even 
Hannah  More  becomes  entertaining  ;  for  though  her  circle  was  a 
narrow  one,  there  were  delightful  people  in  it,  and  the  letters  make 
us  at  home  in  her  little  world,  as  no  formal  biography  could  do. 

Nowadays  no  one  writes  letters,  and  no  one  would  have  time 
to  read  them  if  they  were  written.  Little  notes  fly  back  and  forth, 
like  swallows,  between  friend  and  friend,  between  parent  and  child, 
carrying  the  news  of  the  day  in  small  morsels  easily  digested  ;  it 
is  not  worth  while  to  tell  the  whole  story  with  the  pen,  when  it  can 
be  told  in  a  few  weeks,  at  the  farthest,  with  the  voice.  For  nobody 
now  is  more  than  a  few  weeks  from  anywhere.  In  the  spring  my 
neighbor  came  home  with  his  wife  from  the  Philippine  Islands,  to 
pass  a  few  weeks  with  his  friends  and  hers.  Yesterday  he  ran 
back  to  the  islands,  to  buckle  to  business  again.  Why  take  the 
trouble  while  here  to  detail  the  gossip  of  his  home-circle  to  his 
Philippine  friends,  in  letters,  when  in  a  fortnight  or  so  he  would  be 
recounting  it  to  them  at  their  own  tables  ? 

The  letters  here  printed  have  more  than  the  interest  of  con- 
temporary records  ;  they  paint  in  words,  with  a  thousand  delicate 
and  expressive  touches,  the  portrait  of  a  lively  and  beautiful  girl, 
with  a  character  as  striking  and  individual  as  the  face  that  Mal- 
bone  has  drawn  for  us  on  ivory.  Never  was  a  reigning  beauty 
more  spirited,  never  was  a  spirited  girl  of  fashion  more  truly  lov- 
able, than  Eliza  Bowne.  Whether  she  be  at  boarding-school,  writ- 
ing letters  to  her  "  honored  parents,"  and  hiding  her  little  home- 
sick heart  in  vain  under  the  formal  phrases  dictated  by  the 
starched  decorum  of  the  day  ;  or  stealing  an  hour  for  her  pen 
amid  the  whirl  of  the  gay  world  in  which  she  sparkled,  such  a 
cheerful  star,  and  rattling  off  to  her  mother  the  story  of  the  day's 
doings — she  is  always  the  same  generous,  unselfish  creature  ;  im- 
pulsive, but  with  her  impulses  well  in  hand  j  a  heart  brimming 
over  with  mirth,  its  clear  crystal  clouded  by  no  drop  of  malice  ; 
witty,  but  with  a  friendly  glint  in  her  mischievous  eyes,  even  when, 
as  now  and  then  happens,  she  gives  formality  or  presumption  a 
fillip.  Love  and  friendship  followed  her  wherever  she  went  in  her 
too  brief  span  of  life,  and  fortune  heaped  her  girlish  lap  with  all 
good  things  ;  but  she  showed  herself  worthy  of  her  blessings,  and 
kept  herself  unspotted  from  the  world. 


Introduction.  ix 

Something  should  be  said  of  the  literary  merit  of  these  letters. 
The  name  of  Richardson  has  been  mentioned ;  but  Richardson 
never  wrote  anything  so  fresh  from  the  heart,  so  playful  in  their 
sincerity,  as  some  of  the  letters  to  her  cousin,  Moses  Porter ;  nor 
could  Richardson  have  touched  with  so  light  a  hand  the  story  of 
the  drive  home  in  the  snow-storm  after  the  Assembly  ball,  or  the 
account  of  the  game  of  Loo,  when,  with  a  fluttering  heart,  she 
stands,  divided  between  the  eager  desire  to  read  the  letter  she 
has  just  slipped  into  her  pocket,  and  the  impatient  calls  of  her 
partners  to  join  them  at  the  game.  Fanny  Burney,  and  Fanny 
Burney  alone,  could  have  written  letters  like  these. 

They  are  not,  however,  the  letters  of  a  practised  writer,  nor 
was  there  ever  in  her  mind  any  thought  of  publication.  It  was 
the  age  of  "epistolary  correspondence:"  all  the  girls  of  Miss 
Southgate's  acquaintance  were  writing  letters  to  their  friends, 
long  ones,  often,  made  up  in  the  manner  of  a  diary,  with  a  week's 
doings  recorded  day  by  day ;  for  postage  was  dear,  and  to  send 
blank  paper  an  extravagance,  and  no  doubt,  like  her  friends, 
she  forgot  her  letters  as  soon  as  they  were  sent  off.  Her  corre- 
spondents were  not  so  indifferent,  however,  and  they  kept  her 
letters  carefully.  Her  mother,  to  whom  the  most  of  them  were 
written,  left  those  sent  to  herself  as  a  bequest  to  her  grand- 
daughter, Mrs.  John  W.  Lawrence,  the  '*  little  Mary  "  of  the  later 
letters.  Mrs.  Bowne  died  in  the  same  year  in  which  this  daughter 
was  born  ;  but  her  sister-in-law,  Miss  Caroline  Bowne,  who  de- 
voted herself  to  the  care  of  the  little  girl  after  her  mother's  death, 
instilled  into  her  heart  such  an  affection  for  her  parent's  memory 
that  she  came  to  cherish  it  with  an  almost  religious  devotion,  and 
guarded  as  a  sacred  relic  everything  that  had  belonged  to  her. 
To  the  letters  left  her  by  her  grandmother,  Mrs.  Lawrence  added 
all  she  could  collect  from  other  persons  with  whom  her  mother  had 
corresponded.  They  came  to  her  in  a  sad  state,  from  much  read- 
ing and  passing  about  from  hand  to  hand ;  and  to  preserve  their 
contents  she  copied  the  whole  collection,  with  the  greatest  care,  in 
her  neat,  methodical  handwriting,  into  two  small  books,  and  these, 
in  her  turn,  she  bequeathed  to  her  children,  as  her  grandmother 
had  bequeathed  the  originals  to  her. 

They  are  now  given  to  the  public,  enriched  with  a  consider- 


x  Introduction. 

able  number  of  contemporary  portraits  and  other  illustrations, 
carefully  reproduced  from  original  miniatures  and  old  prints  ;  and 
with  an  abundance  of  biographical  notes,  industriously  collected 
by  a  competent  hand,  which  cannot  fail  to  be  of  value  to  the  social 
chronicler  of  our  time.  While  the  importance  of  these  letters  as 
illustrations  of  the  domestic  life  of  our  country  at  a  most  interest- 
ing time  is  considerable,  their  chief  value,  after  all,  lies  in  the 
picture  they  give  of  the  writer.  It  is  a  picture  drawn,  as  we  have 
said,  with  a  thousand  graceful  touches,  and  the  natural  girlish 
loveliness  of  the  portraiture  shows  best  when  it  is  read  from  end 
to  end.  Then,  as  we  look  up  from  the  printed  page  to  Malbone's 
portrait,  the  vision  takes  shape  : 

"  A  hair-brained,  sentimental  trace 
Was  strongly  marked  in  her  face  ; 
A  wildly  witty,  rustic  grace 

Shone  full  upon  her  ; 
Her  eye,  even  turned  on  empty  space, 

Beamed  keen  with  honour." 

CLARENCE   COOK. 

FlSHKILL-ON-HUDSON, 

October  i,  1887. 


A  GIRL'S  LIFE  EIGHTY  YEARS  AGO 


Medford,  Jan.  23,  1797. 

My  Mamma : 

I  went  to  Boston  last  Saturday,  and  there  I  received 
your  letter.  I  have  now  to  communicate  to  you  only 
my  wishes  to  tarry  in  Boston  a  quarter,  if  convenient. 
In  my  last  letter  to  my  Father  I  did  not  say  anything 
respecting  it  because  I  did  not  wish  Mrs.  Wyman  to 
know  I  had  an  inclination  to  leave  her  school,  but  only 
because  I  thought  you  would  wish  me  to  come  home 
when  my  quarter  was  out.  I  have  a  great  desire  to  see 
my  family,  but  I  have  a  still  greater  desire  to  finish  my 
education. 

Still  I  have  to  beg  you  to  remind  my  friends  and 
acquaintances  that  I  remain  the  same  Eliza,  and  that  I 
bear  the  same  love  I  ever  did  to  them,  whether  they 
have  forgotten  me  or  not. 

Tell  my  little  Brothers  and  Sisters  I  want  to  see  them 
very  much  indeed.  Write  me  an  answer  as  soon  as  you 
can  conveniently.  I  shall  send  you  some  of  my  work 
which  you  never  have  seen,  —  it  is  my  Arithmetic. 

Permit  me,  my  Honored  Mother,  to  claim  the  title  of 
Your  affectionate  daughter, 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Mrs.  Mary  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 


Medford,  May  12,  1797. 

Honored  Parents : 

With  pleasure  I  sit  down  to  the  best  of  parents  to 
inform  them  of  my  situation,  as  doubtless  they  are 
anxious  to  hear,  —  permit  me  to  tell  them  something  of 
my  foolish  heart.  When  I  first  came  here  I  gave  my- 
self up  to  reflection,  but  not  pleasing  reflections.  When 
Mr.  Boyd  x  left  me  I  burst  into  tears  and  instead  of  try- 
ing to  calm  my  feelings  I  tried  to  feel  worse.  I  begin  to 
feel  happier  and  will  soon  gather  up  all  my  Philosophy 
and  think  of  the  duty  that  now  attends  me,  to  think  that 
here  I  may  drink  freely  of  the  fountain  of  knowledge, 
but  I  will  not  dwell  any  longer  on  this  subject.  I  am 
not  doing  anything  but  writing,  reading,  and  cyphering. 
There  is  a  French  Master  coming  next  Monday,  and  he 
will  teach  French  and  Dancing.  William  Boyd  and 
Mr.  Wyman  advise  me  to  learn  French,  yet  if  I  do  at  all 
I  wish  you  to  write  me  very  soon  what  you  think  best, 
for  the  school  begins  on  Monday.  Mr.  Wyman  says  it 
will  not  take  up  but  a  very  little  of  my  time,  for  it  is 
but  two  days  in  the  week,  and  the  lessons  only  2  hours 
long.  Mr.  Wyman  says  I  must  learn  Geometry  before 
Geography,  and  that  I  better  not  begin  it  till  I  have  got 
through  my  Cyphering. 

We  get  up  early  in  the  morning  and  make  our  beds 
and  sweep  the  chamber,  it  is  a  chamber  about  as  large 

1  Joseph  Coffin  Boyd,  of  Portland,  Maine.  Married  Isabella,  oldest 
daughter  of  Dr.  Southgate. 


V.IBRA 


*>F  THB 


CJNIVERSITY 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,  5 

as   our   kitchen    chamber,  and  a  little   better  finished. 
There  's  4  beds  in  the  chamber,  and  two  persons  in  each 
bed,  we  have  chocolate  for  breakfast  and  supper. 
Your  affectionate  Daughter 

Eliza  Southgate. 


Medford,  May  25, 1797. 

My  dear  Parents : 

I  hope  I  am  in  some  measure  sensible  of  the  great 
obligation  I  am  under  to  you  for  the  inexpressible  kind- 
ness and  attention  which  I  have  received  of  you  from 
the  cradle  to  my  present  situation  in  school.  Many 
have  been  your  anxious  cares  for  the  welfare  of  me, 
your  child,  at  every  stage  and  period  of  my  inexperienced 
life  to  the  present  moment.  In  my  infancy  you  nursed 
and  reared  me  up,  my  inclinations  you  have  indulged 
and  checked  my  follies  — have  liberally  fed  me  with  the 
bounty  of  your  table,  and  from  your  instructive  lips  I 
have  been  admonished  to  virtue,  morality,  and  religion. 
The  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe  you  is  great,  yet  I  hope  to 
repay  you  by  duly  attending  to  your  counsels  and  to  my 
improvement  in  useful  knowledge. 

My  thankful  heart  with  grateful  feelings  beat, 
With  filial  duty  I  my  Parents  greet, 
Your  fostering  care  hath  reared  me  from  my  birth, 
And  been  my  Guardians,  since  I  've  been  on  earth, 
With  love  unequalled  taught  the  surest  way, 
And  Check'd  my  passions  when  they  went  astray. 
I  wish  and  trust  to  glad  declining  years,  — 
Make  each  heart  gay  —  each  eye  refrain  from  tears. 


6  A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

When  days  are  finished  and  when  time  shall  cease 
May  you  be  wafted  to  eternal  peace 

Is  the  sincere  wish  of  your  dutiful  Daughter, 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Robert  Southgate  Esqr.  &  Lady. 


Medford,  June  13,  1797. 

Dear  Mother : 

With  what  pleasure  did  I  receive  your  letter  and 
hear  the  praises  of  an  approving  Mother !  It  shall  be 
my  study  to  please  and  make  you  happy.  You  said 
you  hoped  that  I  was  not  disappointed  in  learning 
French  ;  I  hope  you  think  that  I  have  too  much  love 
and  reverence  for  my  Parents  to  take  any  thing  amiss 
that  they  thought  most  proper  for  me.  I  was  very  happy 
to  hear  that  you  had  received  the  bonnets,  and  I  hope 
they  will  suit  you.  I  have  never  received  a  letter  from 
Horatio 1  since  I  have  been  here.  I  expect  to  begin 
Geometry  as  soon  as  I  have  done  Cyphering,  which  I 

1  Horatio  Southgate,  Dr.  Southgate's  oldest  son,  followed  the  profession 
of  the  law  in  the  town  of  Portland,  Maine,  and  was  for  twenty-one  years 
Register  of  Probate  for  Cumberland  County,  Maine.  Mr.  Southgate 
married  three  times.  His  first  wife  was  a  friend  of  his  sisters  and  was 
Abigail  McLellan,  the  daughter  of  Hugh  McLellan,  a  well-known  East 
Indian  merchant.  Mary  Webster  was  Mr.  Southgate's  second  wife ;  she 
was  the  daughter  of  Noah  Webster,  whose  name  is  well  known  in  con- 
nection with  the  dictionary  that  he  wrote.  Mr.  Southgate's  third  wife  was 
Eliza  Neal  of  Portland.  By  his  three  wives  Mr.  Southgate  had  a  large 
family  of  children,  among  them  being  the  Rt.  Rev'd  Horatio  Southgate 
and  the  Rev'd  William  Scott  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.  7 

hope  will  be  soon,  for  I  have  got  as  far  as  Practice.  Tell 
Isabella l  and  Mama  2  King,  that  some  letters  from  them 
would  give  me  great  pleasure  and  that  I  hope  to  expe- 
rience it  soon.  I  should  have  written  to  Mama  King, 
but  I  had  not  time,  but  I  intend  to,  the  first  opportunity. 
I  have  found  the  nubs  and  sent  them  to  Portland.  I 
received  your  letter  by  my  Brother  Boyd,  and  was  very 
much  surprised  to  hear  that  Octavia  3  was  going  to  have 
the  small-pox.  Please  to  give  my  love  to  Harriet  Emer- 
son, and  Mary  Rice,  and  tell  them  that  I  intend  to  write 
to  them  very  soon  and  shall  expect  some  letters  from 
them.  Give  my  love  to  all  my  friends  and  tell  them  that 
I  often  think  on  them,  and  I  hope  they  will  not  forget 
your  affectionate  daughter 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Mrs.  Mary  Southgate. 

Medford,  August  n,  1797. 

Dear  Parents : 

It  is  a  long  time  since  I  received  a  letter  from  home, 
and  I  have  neglected  my  duty  in  not  writing  to  you 
oftener.     I  shall  send  you  with  this  some  of  my  Pieces, 

1  Isabella  Southgate  had  married  to  Joseph  Coffin  Boyd.  She  was  Dr. 
Southgate's  oldest  child. 

2  Mary  Black,  the  second  wife  of  Richard  King,  Mrs.  Southgate's  step- 
mother. She  had  married  Mr.  King  soon  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife, 
who  was  her  cousin,  and  had  been  a  kind  and  devoted  mother  to  his  three 
children. 

3  Octavia  Southgate,  Dr.  Southgate's  third  daughter.  She  married,  in 
1805,  William  Browne. 


8  A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

and  you  will  see  if  you  think  I  have  improved  any  :  the 
Epitaph  on  the  Hon.  Thomas  Russell  was  the  first  one 
that  I  wrote.  My  brother  Boyd  never  came  to  see  me 
when  he  was  up,  only  called  and  delivered  me  the  letter. 
I  have  never  heard  any  thing  since  from  Boston,  nor 
seen  any  of  my  acquaintance  from  there.  I  have  not 
been  to  Boston  since  Election.  I  expected  to  have  gone 
to  Commencement,  but  I  did  not.  I  fear  that  the  time 
allotted  for  my  stay  here  will  be  too  short  for  me  to  go 
so  far  as  I  wish,  for  I  shall  have  to  go  much  farther  in 
Arithmetic  than  I  had  an  idea  of,  then  go  over  it  again 
in  a  large  book  of  my  own  writing ;  for  my  Instructor 
does  not  wish  to  give  me  a  superficial  knowledge  only. 
He  says  if  I  am  very  diligent ;  he  thinks  that  9  months 
from  the  time  I  came  will  do,  if  I  can't  stay  longer ;  I 
should  feel  happy,  and  very  grateful,  if  you  thought 
proper  to  let  me  tarry  that  time.  I  have  Cyphered  now 
farther  than  Isabella  did,  for  I  have  been  thro'  Practice, 
the  Rule  of  Three  and  Interest  and  two  or  three  rules 
that  I  never  did  before. 

I  would  thank  you  to  write  me  word  if  you  are  willing 
for  me  to  stay  so  long.  With  wishing  you  health  and 
all  the  happiness  which  you  are  capable  of  enjoying, 
permit  me  to  subscribe  myself 

Your  affectionate  and  most  dutiful  Daughter 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Mr.  &  Mrs.  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 


Medford,  Aug.  14,  1797. 

Dear  Mother : 

I  am  very  sorry  for  your  trouble,  and  sympathize  with 
you  in  it.  I  now  regret  being  from  home,  more  than 
ever,  for  I  think  I  might  be  of  service  to  you  now  the 
children  are  sick.  I  hope  they  will  be  as  much  favored 
in  their  sickness  now,  as  they  were  when  they  had  the 
measles.  I  am  very  sorry  that  Jane  has  broken  her 
arm,  for  it  generally  causes  a  long  confinement,  and  I 
fear  she  has  not  got  patience  enough  to  bear  it  without 
a  great  deal  of  trouble.  I  suppose  that  Isabella  will  be 
very  much  worried  about  her  babe.  I  would  thank  you 
to  write  me  very  often  now  —  for  I  shall  be  very  anxious 
about  the  children.  I  believe  I  have  got  some  news  to 
tell  you,  that  is,  I  have  found  one  of  your  acquaintance, 
and  relation  ;  it  is  a  Mrs.  Sawyer,  before  she  was  mar- 
ried she  was  Polly  King,  and  she  says  that  you  kept  at 
their  house  when  you  was  in  Boston;  I  believe  I  have 
nothing  more  to  request,  only  for  you  to  give  my  love 
to  all  the  children,  and  kiss  each  of  them  for  me,  and  tell 
them  to  be  as  patient  as  they  can.  Give  my  respects  to 
my  Father  and  tell  him  I  want  to  receive  a  letter  from 
him  very  much. 

I  am  your  affectionate  and  dutiful  daughter 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Mrs.  Mary  Southgate. 


io        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 


Medford,  August  25,  1797. 

Dear  Mother : 

I  received  your  packet  of  things  the  20th  inst.  and 
was  very  glad  of  them.  If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to 
send  me  word  whether  Sarah's a  ear-rings  were  in  the 
basket,  I  will  be  much  obliged  to  you.  I  have  forgotten 
whether  I  did  or  not  —  write  me  word  if  you  like  your 
bonnet  and  the  children's,  I  hope  you  do. 

Give  my  love  to  Sarah  and  all  the  children,  and  kiss 
Arixene,2  and  Robert  for  me.  Never  did  I  know  the 
worth  of  good  parents  half  so  much  as  now  I  am  from 
them ;  I  never  missed  our  closet  so  much,  and  above 
all  things  our  cheese  and  Butter  which  we  have  but 
very  little  of,  but  I  am  very  contented.  I  wish  you 
would  send  me  up  my  patterns  all  of  them  for  I  want 
them  very  much  indeed,  for  I  expect  to  work  me  a 
gown. 

I  am  with  due  respect 

Your  dutiful  daughter 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Mrs.  Mary  Southgate. 

1  Sarah  Leland  was  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Southgate's  half-sister  Dorcas 
King,  Mrs.  Joseph  Leland. 

2  Arixene  and  Robert  Southgate,  Eliza's  younger  sister  and  brother. 
Arixene  married  Henry  Smith,  of  Sacarappa,  Maine. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         n 

Medford,  Sept.  30,  1797. 

Dear  Mother : 

You  mentioned  in  yours,  of  the  16th  inst.  that  it  was 
a  long  time  since  you  had  received  a  letter  from  me ; 
but  it  was  owing  to  my  studies  which  took  up  the 
greater  part  of  my  time  ;  for  I  have  been  busy  in  my 
Arithmetic,  but  I  finished  it  yesterday,  and  expect  now 
to  begin  my  large  manuscript  Arithmetic.  You  say 
that  you  shall  regret  so  long  an  absence ;  not  more  cer- 
tainly than  I  shall,  but  a  strong  desire  to  possess  more 
useful  knowledge  than  I  at  present  do,  I  can  dispense 
with  the  pleasure  a  little  longer  of  beholding  my  friends 
and  I  hope  I  shall  be  better  prepared  to  meet  my  good 
parents  towards  whom  my  heart  overflows  with  gratitude. 
You  mentioned  in  your  letter  about  my  Winter  clothes 
of  which  I  will  make  out  a  Memorandum.  I  shall  want 
a  coat  and  you  may  send  it  up  for  me  to  make,  or  you 
may  make  it  your  self,  but  I  want  it  made  loose  with  a 
belt.  I  wish  you  to  send  me  enough  of  all  my  slips  to 
make  long  sleeves  that  you  can,  and  I  wish  you  would 
pattern  my  dark  slip  to  make  long  sleeves.  I  want  a 
flannel  waist,  and  a  petticoat,  for  my  white  one  dirts  so 
quick  that  I  had  rather  have  a  colored  one.  I  have 
nothing  more  to  write,  only  give  my  love  to  all  who  ask 
after  me.  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  Horatio, 
he  is  very  well. 

Your  ever  affectionate  daughter 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Mrs.  Mary  Southgate. 


i2         A  Girl's  Lip  Eighty  Years  Ago. 


Medford,  Oct.  17,  1797. 

Dear  Brother : 

Yours  of  the  nth  of  Sept.  was  gratefully  received  by 
your  affectionate  Sister ;  and  your  excuse  at  first  I 
thought  not  very  good,  but  now  I  think  it  very  good, 
for  I  have  been  plagued  very  much  myself.  William 
Boyd  came  from  Portland  about  a  fortnight  since  and 
by  him  I  was  informed  that  Sister  Isabella's  child  was 
very  sick  and  he  was  in  doubt  whether  it  would  ever 
get  over  it.  I  feel  for  Isabella  much  more  than  I  can 
tell  you  who  is  but  just  entered  the  bonds  of  Matrimony 
should  so  soon  have  sickness,  and  perhaps  Death,  be 
one  of  the  guests  of  her  family.  I  was  also  informed 
that  the  children  had  all  got  over  the  hooping  cough 
and  that  Octavia  was  much  healthier  than  she  was  be- 
fore she  had  the  small-pox.  By  my  last  letter  from 
home  Papa  informed  me  that  I  might  tarry  all  Winter 
and  I  have  concluded  to.  I  suppose  you  would  like  to 
know  how  I  spend  my  time  here.  I  shall  answer,  very 
well ;  my  going  abroad  is  chiefly  in  Boston,  for  I  don't 
go  out  much  in  Medford.  It  was  vacation  about  a  week 
since  and  I  spent  it  in  Boston  very  agreeably. 

I  keep  at  Mr.  Boyd's  when  I  am  there,  and  Mrs.  Lit- 
tle's. I  go  to  Boston  every  public  day  as  Mr.  B.  is  so 
good  as  to  send  for  me.  I  am  very  fond  of  that  family 
and  likewise  Mrs.  Little's.  You  speak  of  my  writing 
and  you  think  that  I  have  improved.     I  am  glad  of  it. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         13 

I  hope  I   shall  make  as   great   progress  in  my  other 
studies  and  be  an  "Accomplished  Miss." 
Horatio  do  write  very  soon  ;  will  you  ? 

Adieu  !  your  affectionate  Sister 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Horatio  Southgate. 

Medford,  Nov.  10,  1797. 

You  mentioned  in  your  letter,  my  dear  mother,  that 
Cousin  Mary  informed  you  that  I  expected  to  go  to  the 
Ball.  I  did  think  that  I  should  go  but  I  altered  my 
mind  ;  I  had  2  or  3  invitations  but  I  would  not  accept 
of  any  of  them.  My  cloak  likewise  you  mentioned 
something  about,  which  I  shall  attend  to  when  I  go  to 
Boston.  I  expect  to  go  to  Boston  at  Thanksgiving,  for 
there  is  a  vacation  of  a  week.  I  had  a  letter  from 
Horatio  yesterday,  he  was  well.  Isabella  wrote  me 
word  that  my  Father  had  got  the  Rheumatism  very  bad, 
which  I  am  sorry  to  hear.  If  the  wishes  or  prayers  of 
Eliza  would  heal  the  wound,  it  would  not  long  remain 
unheal'd. 

My  love  to  all  the  children,  tell  them  I  don't  dare  to 
tell  them  how  much  I  want  to  see  them,  nor  even  think. 
My  love  to  all  that  ask  after  me.  May  all  the  happi- 
ness that  is  possible  for  you  to  enjoy  be  experienced  is 
the  sincere  wish  of 

Your  affectionate  Daughter 

Eliza  S. 

Mrs.  Mary  Southgate. 


i4         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 


Medford,  Dec.  16,  1797. 

My  Dear  Father : 

I  received  yours  with  pleasure  and  was  happy  to  hear 
that  you  were  better.  I  hope  you  will  continue  grow- 
ing better  until  the  complaint  is  entirely  removed.  I 
came  from  Boston  yesterday  after  spending  vacation 
there.  I  went  to  the  theater  the  night  before  for  the 
first  time,  and  Mr.  Turner  came  into  the  box  where  I 
was.  I  did  not  know  him  at  first,  neither  did  he  me, 
but  he  soon  found  me  out.  With  this  I  shall  send 
some  pieces.  My  respect  is  justly  due  to  my  good 
Mother,  and  my  love  to  all  who  ask  after  me,  the 
children  in  particular.  I  hope  to  improve  to  your 
satisfaction,  which  will  amply  reward  me  for  all  my 
pains. 

I  must  conclude  with  wishing  you  health  and  happi- 
ness. 

Your  ever  affectionate  daughter,  E.  S. 


Medford,  Jan'y  9th,  1798. 

My  Good  Father : 

The  contents  of  your  letter  surprised  me  at  first ;  it 
may  sometimes  be  of  service  to  me,  for  while  I  have 
such  a  monitor,  I  never  can  act  contrary  to  such  advice. 
No,  my  Father,  I  hope  by  the  help  of  Heaven  never  to 
cause  shame  or  misery  to  attend  the  grey  hairs  of  my 
Parents  nor  myself,  but  on  the  contrary  to  glad  your 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         15 

declining  years  with  happiness  and  that  you  may  never 
have  cause  to  rue  the  day  that  gave  me  existence.  My 
heart  feels  no  attachment  except  to  my  family.  I  re- 
spect many  of  my  friends  but  love  none  but  my  Parents. 
Your  letter  shall  be  my  guide  from  home,  and  when  I 
again  behold  our  own  peaceful  mansion  then  will  I 
again  be  guided  by  my  Parents'  happiness,  —  their  hap- 
piness shall  be  my  pursuit.  My  heart  overflows  with 
gratitude  toward  you  and  my  good  Mother.  I  am 
sensible  of  the  innumerable  obligations  I  am  under  to 
you.  You  mention  in  your  letter  about  my  pieces, 
which  you  say  you  imagine  are  purloined ;  I  am  very 
sorry  if  they  are,  for  I  set  more  by  them  than  any  of  my 
pieces  ;  one  was  the  Mariner's  Compass,  and  the  other 
was  a  Geometrical  piece.  I  spent  Thanksgiving  at 
Mrs.  Little's  and  Christmas  here.  I  have  finished  my 
large  Manuscript  Arithmetic  and  want  to  get  it  bound, 
and  then  I  shall  send  it  to  you.  I  have  done  a  small 
Geometry  book  and  shall  begin  a  large  one  to-morrow, 
such  a  one  as  you  saw  at  Mr.  Wyman's  if  you  remem- 
ber. It  is  the  beginning  of  a  new  year ;  allow  me  then 
to  pay  you  the  compliments  of  the  season.  —  I  pray 
that  this  year  to  you  may  prove  a  year  of  health,  pros- 
perity, and  love.  My  quarter  will  be  out  the  8th  day  of 
next  month,  it  will  be  in  about  four  weeks.  I  wish  you 
would  write  me  soon  how  I  am  to  come  home  —  for  I 
wish  to  know. 

I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  could  make  it  convenient 
to  come  for  me,  for  I  wish  you  to  come.     Give  my  love 


1 6         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

to  Irene  and  tell  her  I  believe  she  owes  me  a  letter;  if 
you  please  you  may  tell  her  that  part  of  my  letter  which 
concerns  school  affairs. 

My  love  is  due  to  all  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  ask 
after  me.  Tell  Mamma  I  have  begun  the  turban  and 
will  send  it  as  soon  as  I  finish  it.  When  I  see  her  I 
will  tell  her  why  I  did  not  do  it  before. 

Accept  my  sincere  wishes  that  My  Parents  may  enjoy 
all  the  happiness  that  ever  mortals  know. 
Still  I  hope  I  am 

Your  dutiful  Daughter, 

Eliza  Southgate. 

Robert  Southgate,  Esq. 


Boston,  Jan.  30,  1798. 

My  Honored  Father : 

By  Capt.  Bradbury  I  was  informed  that  you  wished 
me  to  come  home  with  him,  which  I  should  have  com- 
plied with,  had  not  I  have  seen  my  Uncle  William  l  to- 
day, and  he  informed  me  that  you  had  concluded  to  let 
me  spend  some  time  in  Boston,  which  I  was  very  glad 
to  hear.  I  shall  now  wait  until  I  hear  certain,  which  I 
wish  you  to  send  me  word  by  the  next  post.  —  I  shall 
enclose  in  this  a  card  of  Mrs.  Rawson's  terms  which 

1  William  King,  the  son  of  Richard  King  by  his  second  wife  Mary 
Black,  was  a  large  land-owner  near  the  town  of  Bath.  Mr.  King  was 
elected  the  first  Governor  when  the  District  of  Maine  was  changed  into  a 
State  with  a  government  of  its  own. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         17 

you  may  peruse ;   until  then  I  remain  with  the  same 
affection, 

Your  dutiful  Daughter,  Eliza  S. 


Boston,  February  13,  179S. 

Hon.  Father: 

I  am  again  placed  at  school  under  the  tuition  of  an 
amiable  lady,  so  mild,  so  good,  no  one  can  help  loving 
her ;  she  treats  all  her  scholars  with  such  a  tenderness 
as  would  win  the  affection  of  the  most  savage  brute, 
tho*  scarcely  able  to  receive  an  impression  of  the  kind. 
I  learn  Embroidery  and  Geography  at  present  and  wish 
your  permission  to  learn  Musick.  You  may  justly  say, 
my  best  of  Fathers,  that  every  letter  of  mine  is  one 
which  is  asking  for  something  more;  never  contented  — 
I  only  ask,  if  you  refuse  me,  I  know  you  do  what  you 
think  best,  and  I  am  sure  I  ought  not  to  complain,  for 
you  have  never  yet  refused  me  anything  that  I  have 
asked,  my  best  of  Parents,  how  shall  I  repay  you  ?  You 
answer,  by  your  good  behaviour.  Heaven  grant  that  it 
may  be  such  as  may  repay  you.  A  year  will  have  rolled 
over  my  head  before  I  shall  see  my  Parents.  I  have 
ventured  from  them  at  an  early  age  to  be  so  long  a  time 
absent,  but  I  hope  I  have  learnt  a  good  lesson  by  it  — 
a  lesson  of  experience,  which  is  the  best  lesson  I  could 
learn. 

I  have  described  one  of  the  blessings  of  creation  in 
Mrs.  Rawson,  and  now  I  will  describe  Mrs.  Wyman  as 


1 8         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

the  reverse :  she  is  the  worst  woman  I  ever  knew  of  all 
that  I  ever  saw  ;  nobody  knows  what  I  suffered  from 
the  treatment  of  that  woman  —  I  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  a  favorite  with  Miss  Haskell  and  Mr.  Wyman,  she 
said,  and  she  treated  me  as  her  own  malicious  heart 
dictated ;  but  whatever  is,  is  right,  and  I  learnt  a  good 
lesson  by  it.  I  wish  you,  my  Father,  to  write  an 
answer  soon  and  let  me  know  if  I  may  learn  music.  — 
Give  my  best  respects  to  my  good  Mother,  tho'  what  I 
say  to  my  Father  applies  to  my  Mother  as  much  as  to 
my  Father.  May  it  please  the  disposer  of  all  events  to 
return  me  safe  home  to  the  bosom  of  my  friends  in 
health  safely.  I  never  was  happier  in  my  life  I  think, 
and  my  heart  overflows  toward  my  heavenly  Father  for 
it ;  and  may  it  please  him  to  continue  it  and  afford  it  to 
my  Parents,  is  the  sincere  wish  of 

Your  Eliza  Southgate. 

Robert  Southgate,  Esqr. 


Boston,  May  12th,  1798. 

My  dear  Parents : 

Now  at  the  end  of  the  week,  when  my  hopes  are 
almost  exhausted  of  seeing  my  brother,  I  attempt  to 
address  you,  —  a  task  which  was  once  delightful  but 
now  painful  since  my  Mother's  last  letter.  I  see  my 
errors,  and  if  I  can  hope  they  will  no  longer  be  remem- 
bered by  my  Parents,  I  shall  again  be  happy. 

My  Mother's  letter  greatly  surprised  me  after  having 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         19 

received  so  different  a  one  from  my  Father.  Indeed, 
my  Parents,  did  you  think  I  would  any  longer  cherish  a 
passion  you  disapproved  ?  After  expressing  your  disap- 
probation it  was  enough,  your  wishes  are  and  ever  shall 
be  my  commands.  I  have  spent  a  week  of  painful  ex- 
pectation ;  no  letter,  no  brother,  no  father  have  come, 
and  I  am  now  in  anxious  expectation  to  receive  a  letter 
to-night,  but  I  dare  not  hope  it  to  be  so.  Do,  my 
Father,  as  soon  as  you  receive  this  send  for  me  as  soon 
as  possible,  for  my  quarter  at  Mrs.  Rawson's  was  out 
last  Saturday,  and  as  circumstances  are,  I  thought  it 
proper  not  to  go  to  Mr.  Boyd's.  I  beg  of  you  to  send 
for  me  home  directly,  for  I  only  board  at  Mrs.  Rawson's 
now,  for  I  am  in  expectation  of  seeing  or  hearing  every 
day  and  therefore  I  have  not  begun  any  more  work. 
My  time  is  spending  without  gain.  I  am  at  Mrs. 
Frazier's  and  have  been  here  ever  since  Thursday.  I 
shall  go  back  to  Mrs.  Rawson's  to-night  and  there  wait 
for  further  orders.  Time  hangs  more  heavy  than  ever 
it  did  before.  I  am  with  the  most  sincere  Respect  and 
affection 


Your  daughter  Eliza. 


R.  &  M.  Southgate. 


Scarborough,  Dec.  16th. 

I  am  sorry  to  have  given  Aunt  Porter  such  an  op- 
portunity of  charging  me  with  neglect  in  executing  her 
commission,  but  I  can  easily  convince  her  I  did  not  de- 


20         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

serve  censure ;  for  until  last  Friday  I  never  received 
yours  of  Nov.  22nd,  and  I  shall  execute  that  part  of 
Aunt's  request  which  I  can  in  Scarborough  —  the  gown 
patterns  I  shall  enclose.  The  one  with  a  fan  back  is 
meant  to  just  meet  before  and  pin  the  Robings,  no  string 
belt  or  any  thing.  The  other  pattern  is  a  plain  waist 
with  strips  of  the  same  sticked  on,  and  for  white,  laced 
between  with  bobbin  or  cord.  I  have  a  muslin  done  so 
with  black  silk  cord,  which  looks  very  handsome  —  and 
I  have  altered  my  brown  silk  into  one  like  the  other 
pattern.  I  was  over  at  Saco  yesterday  and  saw  one 
Mary  [King]  had  made  in  Boston.  It  was  a  separate 
waist,  or  rather  the  breadths  did  not  go  quite  up.  The 
waist  was  plain  with  one  stripe  of  cording  let  in  behind 
and  the  rest  of  the  waist  perfectly  plain  —  the  skirt  part 
was  plaited  in  box  plaits  3  of  a  side  —  which  reached  to 
the  shoulder  strap  and  only  enough  left  to  meet  strait 
before,  as  is  one  of  the  patterns  I  have  sent.  You  ask 
so  many  questions  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  answer 
them.  Isabella  is  almost  recovered  —  her  family  well. 
The  baby  I  believe  will  be  named  Charles  Orlando. 
The  assemblies  begin  next  Thursday  —  as  also  do  Saco 
assemblies,  and  on  Friday  I  go  to  the  Saco  assembly  — 
probably  I  shall  go  to  next  Portland  assembly.  You 
ask  how  Mr.  Little  and  Laura  do  ?  A  strange  ques- 
tion. Laura  is  well  or  was  last  Thursday,  and  Mr. 
Little  is  soon  to  be  married  to  Miss  Bowman  of  Exeter. 
Papa  has  been  confined  to  the  house  a  week  yester- 
day by  a  wound  on  his  leg  which  he  made  with  an  axe, 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         21 

he  wounded  the  tendon  which  leads  from  his  great  toe 
up,  he  cut  it  a  little  above  the  ankle  —  it  has  been  very 
painful.  Give  my  love  to  Aunt,  tell  her  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  come  down  this  winter,  for  my  next  visit  will  be 
to  Boston.  Write  me  the  next  opportunity  respecting 
the  sables,  and  the  time  and  how  Uncle  goes  to  Boston 
that  I  may  be  in  readiness. 

Family  all  well.  Eliza. 

To  Octavia. 


Boston,  Feb.  7th,  1800. 

After  the  toil,  the  bustle  and  fatigue  of  the  week 
I  turn  towards  home  to  relate  the  manner  in  which  I 
have  spent  my  time.  I  have  been  continually  engaged 
in  parties,  plays,  balls,  &c.  &c.  Since  the  first  week  I 
came  to  town,  I  have  attended  all  the  balls  and  assem- 
blies, one  one  week  and  one  the  next.  They  have  reg- 
ular balls  once  a  fortnight,  so  that  I  have  been  to  one 
or  the  other  every  Thursday.  They  are  very  brilliant, 
and  I  have  formed  a  number  of  pleasing  acquaintances 
there;  last  night,  which  was  ball  night,  I  drew  No.  5,  & 
2nd  sett  drew  a  Mr.  Snow,  bad  partner ;  danced  volun- 
tarily with  Mr.  Oliver,  Mr.  Andrews,  Mr.  McPherson ; 
danced  until  1  o'clock ;  they  have  charming  suppers, 
table  laid  entirely  with  china.  I  had  charming  partners 
always.  To-day  I  intended  going  to  Mrs.  Codman's, 
engaged  to  a  week  ago,  but  wrote  a  billett  I  was  indis- 
posed, but  the  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  I  wanted  to 


22         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

go  to  the  play  to  see  Bunker  hill,  and  Uncle  (William 
King)  wished  I  should  —  therefore  I  shall  go.  I  have 
engagements  for  the  greater  part  of  next  week.  To- 
morrow we  all  go  to  hear  Fisher  Ames'  Eulogy.  And 
in  the  morning  going  to  look  at  some  instruments ;  how- 
ever we  got  one  picked  out  that  I  imagine  we  shall 
take,  150  dollars — a  charming  toned  one  and  not  made 
in  this  country.  I  am  still  at  Mrs.  Frazier's,  she  treats 
me  with  the  greatest  attention.  Nancy  is  indeed  a 
charming  girl,  —  I  have  the  promise  of  her  company 
the  ensuing  summer.  I  have  bought  me  a  very  hand- 
some skirt,  white  satin.  Richard  Cutts  went  shopping 
with  me  yesterday  morn,  engaged  to  go  to  the  play 
next  week  with  him.  For  mourning  for  Washington 
the  ladies  dress  as  much  as  if  for  a  relation,  some  en- 
tirely in  black,  but  now  many  wear  only  a  ribbon  with 
a  line  painted  on  it.  I  have  not  yet  been  out  to  see 
Mrs.  Rawson  and  Miss  Haskell,  but  intend  to  next 
week.  Uncle  William  [King]  has  been  very  attentive 
to  me  —  carried  me  to  the  play  3  or  4  times  and  to  all 
the  balls  and  assemblies  excepting  the  last  which  I 
went  with  Mr.  Andrews.  Give  my  best  respects  to 
Pappa  and  Mamma,  and  tell  them  I  shall  soon  be  tired 
of  this  dissipated  life  and  almost  want  to  go  home 
already.  I  have  a  line  to  write  to  Mary  Porter  and 
must  conclude. 

To  Octavia.  ELIZA. 


I 


,  * 


ifin.) 
From  a  miniature  by  ilalbone,  in  possess!  Boston. 


AHIOTYHE,    t.     BIEHSTADT. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         23 

Now  Mamma,  what  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  ask 
for  ?  —  a  wig.  Eleanor  *  has  got  a  new  one  just  like  my 
hair  and  only  5  dollars,  Mrs.  Mayo  one  just  like  it.  I 
must  either  cut  my  hair  or  have  one,  I  cannot  dress  it 
at  all  stylish.  Mrs.  Coffin  bought  Eleanor's  and  says 
that  she  will  write  to  Mrs.  Sumner  to  get  me  one  just 
like  it ;  how  much  time  it  will  save  —  in  one  year  we 
could  save  it  in  pins  and  paper,  besides  the  trouble.  At 
the  assembly  I  was  quite  ashamed  of  my  head,  for  no- 
body has  long  hair.  If  you  will  consent  to  my  having 
one  do  send  me  over  a  5  dollar  bill  by  the  post  immedi- 
ately after  you  receive  this,  for  I  am  in  hopes  to  have  it 
for  the  next  Assembly  —  do  send  me  word  immediately 
if  you  can  let  me  have  one.  Tell  Octavia  she  must 
write  soon,  and  that  there  are  many  inquiries  after  her. 

Eliza. 


To  Octavia  Southgate  —  Mrs.  Frazier's. 

1 2th  of  June,  1800. 
Hanover  Street,  Boston. 

In  the  Hospital !  Bless  your  heart,  I  am  not  there  ! 
Who  told  you  I  was  ?  Mr.  Davis  I  know,  if  you  see  him 
tell  him  I  shall  scold  him  for  it.     Martha  has  heard  the 

1  Eleanor  Coffin,  afterwards  Mrs.  John  Derby,  was  the  daughter  of  Dr. 
Coffin,  a  neighbor  of  Dr.  Southgate's.  Martha  Coffin,  another  daughter, 
had  lately  married  Mr.  Richard  Derby.  The  Mrs.  Codman  mentioned  in 
the  previous  letter  was  a  sister  of  Dr.  Coffin's. 


24         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

same;  true  I  had  some  idea  of  going  in,  but  gave  it  up 
as  soon  as  I  heard  Dr.  Coffin  did  not  attend.  Horatio 
did  likewise.  Your  last  to  Mamma  is  dated  from  Mrs. 
Frazier's ;  how,  Octavia,  shall  we  discharge  the  debt  of 
gratitude  which  we  owe  her  ?  it  had  exceeded  my  hopes 
of  payment  before  you  went,  surely  it  is  now  doubled. 
You  mention  nothing  of  any  letters  from  me ;  I  have 
written  several  and  in  one  told  you  particularly  that 
Mamma  wished  you  by  all  means  to  take  lessons  in 
music;  you  don't  tell  us  what  you  have  done  since  you 
have  been  in  Medford.  Martha  writes  me  that  you  are 
to  spend  part  of  vacation  at  Mrs.  Sumner's.  What  has 
become  of  Ann  and  Harriett  ?  I  am  out  of  patience 
waiting  for  them,  why  don't  they  write,  it  is  an  age  since 
I  have  had  one  line.  Col.  Boyd  I  hope  will  bring  some 
letters  from  all  of  you.  I  have  heard  that  Eleanor  Coffin 
received  attentions  from  Sam  Davis  when  in  Boston,  did 
you  hear  of  it  ?  Martha  writes  me  too  that  Mr.  Andrews 
is  paying  attention  to  a  young  lady  in  Boston,  but  does 
not  mention  her  name,  Miss  Packman  I  guess ;  he  was 
said  to  be  her  swain  last  winter.  Mary  Porter  went 
home  last  week,  I  went  with  her,  she  has  now  gone  to 
Topsham  to  tarry  until  uncle  returns.  I  anxiously  ex- 
pect a  letter  from  Ann  or  Harriett  to  know  the  reason 
that  they  don't  hasten  their  visit.  I  am  learning  my 
1 2th  tune,  Octavia,  I  almost  worship  my  Instrument, — 
it  reciprocates  my  sorrows  and  joys,  and  is  my  bosom 
companion.  How  I  long  to  have  you  return !  I  have 
hardly  attempted  to  sing  since  you  went  away.     I  am 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         25 

sure  I  shall  not  dare  to  when  you  return.  I  must  enjoy 
my  triumph  while  you  are  absent ;  my  musical  talents 
will  be  dim  when  compared  with  the  lustre  of  yours. 
Pooh,  Eliza,  you  are  not  envious  ?  no  !  I  will  excel  in 
something  else  if  not  in  music.  Oh  nonsense,  this  spirit 
of  emulation  in  families  is  destructive  of  concord  and 
harmony,  at  least  I  will  endeavor  to  excel  you  in  sisterly 
affection.  If  you  outshine  me  in  accomplishments,  will 
it  not  be  all  in  the  family  ?  Certainly.  How  I  wish  I 
had  a  balloony  I  would  see  you  and  all  my  friends  in  Bos- 
ton in  a  trice.  I  have  not  got  one.  Do  tell  me  is  Ann 
the  same  dear  good  friend  and  as  much  my  sister  romp 
as  ever?  Tell  her  I  am  so  affronted  with  her  that  I 
won't  speak  to  her.  Sister  Boyd  is  over,  won't  go  home 
this  week  ;  about  your  work,  I  will  go  down  stairs  and 
ask  Mamma,  —  a  mourning  piece  with  a  figure  in  it,  and 
two  other  pictures,  mates  —  figures  of  females  I  think 
handsomer  than  Landscapes.  Mrs.  Rawson  knows  what 
is  best,  —  thus  says  Mamma  —  she  don't  wish  any 
screens.  Mr.  Little,  the  bearer  of  this,  another  beau  I 
send  you,  and  here  is  poor  /  not  a  bit  of  a  one,  Doc.  Ba- 
con excepted,  and  even  him,  Cousin  Mary,  selfish  crea- 
ture, has  lugged  off  his  heart  and  left  the  remainder  here, 
so  we  might  as  well  have  a  stump  —  poor  soul,  his  face 
looks  like  a  Plana,1  one  continued  blush  —  I  suppose 
for  fear  of  hearing  her  name  mentioned,  and  she,  unrea- 
sonable creature !  thinks  he  is  not  all  perfection.  Un- 
accountable taste  !  he  is  very  delightsome  surely,  —  how 

l  Peony  (vulgarly  called  Piny).     Note  by  M.  B.  L. 


26         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

long  shall  I  rant  at  this  rate.  I  long  to  go  to  Portland 
and  then  I  shall  see  some  being  that  looks  like  a  beau  — 
or  a  monkey,  or  anything  you  please  ;  —  To  supply  the 
loss  I  often  look  out  the  window,  till  my  imagination 
forms  one  out  of  a  tree  or  anything  that  I  see,  we  can 
imagine  anything  you  know.  Bless  my  soul,  Mr.  L.  is 
waiting !  Eliza. 

Give  my  love,  respects,  everything,  to  all. 


July  3rd,  1800. 

I  believe,  my  Dear  Mother,  that  you  meant  to  give  me 
a  very  close  lesson  in  Economy  —  when  you  cut  out  the 
shirts  for  me  to  make.  You  had  measured  off  the 
bodies  of  two  and  cut  them  part  way  in  —  and  also  the 
sleeves  were  marked,  —  after  I  had  cut  them  off  there 
was  a  quarter  of  a  yard  left.  I  now  wanted  the  collars 
and  all  the  trimmings.  I  made  out  after  a  great  deal  of 
planning  to  get  out  the  shoulder  pieces,  —  wrist-bands, 
1  pair  of  neck  gussets  and  one  of  sleeve  do.,  are  still 
wanting.  I  shall  send  this  on  by  Mrs.  Smith,  and  if  you 
can  find  out  when  she  returns  I  wish  you  would  send 
some  linen  and  some  more  shirts  to  make  as  I  shall  soon 
finish  these,  and  can  as  well  finish  making  up  the  piece 
here  as  at  home.  I  was  very  sorry  I  did  not  wear  my 
habit  down  as  I  shall  want  it  when  I  go  to  Wiscassett. 
If  you  can  possibly  find  an  opportunity,  I  wish  you 
would  send  it  to  me.  Aunt  Porter's  child  is  one  of  the 
most  troublesome  ones  I  ever  saw,  he  cries  continually, 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         27 

and  she  is  at  present  destitute  of  any  help  except  a  little 
girl  about  12  years  old.  I  wish,  my  Dear  Mother,  that 
you  would  forward  all  letters  that  come  to  Scarborough 
for  me  immediately.  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  yourself  in 
Portland  this  week.  I  was  almost  tempted  to  wish  to 
stay  a  week  there,  —  there  were  so  many  parties,  and 
so  gay  every  body  appeared  —  that  I  longed  to  stay  and 
take  part.  I  forgot  all  about  it  before  I  got  to  Topsham, 
—  much  as  I  enjoy  society  I  never  am  unhappy  when 
without  it,  —  I  cannot  but  feel  happy  that  I  was  brought 
up  in  retirement,  —  since  from  habit  at  least,  I  have  con- 
tracted a  love  for  solitude,  I  never  feel  alone  when  I  have 
my  pen  or  my  book.  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  be  very 
happy  in  the  company  of  such  a  woman  as  Aunt  Porter, 
for  I  really  don't  know  any  one  whose  mind  is  more  im- 
proved, and  which  makes  her  both  a  useful  and  instruct- 
ing companion.  Her  sentiments  and  opinions  are  more 
like  those  I  have  formed  than  any  person  I  know  of.  I 
think  my  disposition  like  hers,  and  I  feel  myself  drawn 
towards  her  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  not  an  hour  but 
she  reminds  me  of  you  and  I  sincerely  think  her  more 
like  you  than  your  own  sister.  I  shall  write  you  when  I 
go  farther  East.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  about 
writing  Octavia,  as  Mrs.  Rawson  told  her  I  wrote  on  an 
improper  subject  when  I  asked  her  in  my  letter  if  Mr. 
Davis  was  paying  attention  to  Eleanor  Coffin,  and  she 
would  not  let  her  answer  the  question.  This  is  refining 
too  much,  and  if  I  can't  write  as  I  feel,  I  can't  write  at 
all.     Now  I  ask  you,  Mamma,  if  it  is  not  quite  a  natural 


28         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

question  when  we  hear  that  any  of  our  friends  are  paid 
attention  to  by  any  gentleman,  to  ask  a  confirmation  of 
the  report  from  those  we  think  most  likely  to  know  the 
particulars.  Never  did  I  write  a  line  to  Octavia  but  I 
should  have  been  perfectly  willing  for  you  or  my  Father 
to  have  seen.  You  have  always  treated  me  more  like  a 
companion  than  a  daughter,  and  therefore  would  make 
allowance  for  the  volatile  expressions  I  often  make  use 
of.  I  never  felt  the  least  restraint  in  company  with  my 
Parents  which  would  induce  me  to  stifle  my  gaiety,  and 
you  have  kindly  permitted  me  to  rant  over  all  my  non- 
sense uncorrected,  and  I  positively  believe  it  has  never 
injured.     I  must  bid  you  good-night.  Eliza. 

Pray  don't  forget  to  send  some  more  shirts. 


July  17,  1800. 

I  must  again  trouble  my  Dear  Mother  by  requesting 
her  to  send  on  my  spotted  muslin.  A  week  from  next 
Saturday  I  set  out  for  Wiscassett,  in  company  with  Un- 
cle William  and  Aunt  Porter.  Uncle  will  fetch  Ann  l  to 
meet  us  there,  and  as  she  has  some  acquaintance  there 
we  shall  stay  some  time  and  aunt  will  leave  us  and  re- 
turn to  Topsham  ;  so  long  a  visit  in  Wiscassett  will 
oblige  me  to  muster  all  my  muslins,  for  I  am  informed 
they  are  so  monstrous  smart  as  to  take  no  notice  of  any 

1  Ann,  daughter  of  Cyrus  King  (Mrs.  Southgate's  half-brother)  and  his 
wife  Hannah  Stone.  She  was  named  after  her  aunt,  Mrs.  William  King, 
Ann  Frazier.     She  afterwards  married  Mr.  Bridge. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         29 

lady  that  can  condescend  to  wear  a  calico  gown,  there- 
fore, dear  mother,  to  ensure  me  a  favorable  reception, 
pray  send  my  spotted  muslin  by  the  next  mail  after  you 
receive  this,  or  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to  Wiscassett.  I 
shall  go  on  horseback,  —  how  I  want  my  habit,  —  I  wish 
it  had  not  been  so  warm  when  I  left  home  and  I  should 
have  worn  it.  I  am  in  hopes  you  will  find  an  opportu- 
nity to  send  it  by  a  private  conveyance  before  I  go,  but 
my  muslin  you  must  certainly  send  by  the  mail.  Aunt 
Porter's  little  Rufus  is  very  sick,  poor  child,  he  was  born 
under  an  evil  star.  I  believe  Pandora  opened  her  box 
upon  him  when  he  first  came  into  existence.  The 
mumps,  I  believe,  now  afflict  him ;  night  before  last  we 
were  alarmed  about  him  for  fear  of  his  having  the 
Quinsy,  but  I  believe  he  is  in  no  danger  of  that  now.  I 
wish  to  hear  from  home  very  much.  Eliza. 

I  shall  anxiously  await  the  arrival  of  the  next  mail 
after  you  receive  this. 


Scarborough,  Sept.  14,  1800. 

I  suppose  I  ought  to  commence  my  letter  with  an 
humble  apology,  begging  forgiveness  for  past  offences 
and  promising  to  do  better  in  future,  but  no,  I  will  only 
tell  you  that  I  have  been  so  much  engaged  since  I  got 
home  from  Topsham  that  I  could  not  write  you.  Martha 
tells  us  you  were  in  Boston  last  Sunday.  Mamma  thinks, 
Octavia,  you  are  there  too  much,  we  do  not  know  how 
often,  but  we  hear  of  you  there  very  often  indeed.     I 


30         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

think,  my  dear  sister,  you  ought  to  improve  every  mo- 
ment of  your  time,  which  is  short,  very  short  to  com- 
plete your  education.  In  November  terminates  the  pe- 
riod of  your  instruction.  The  last  you  will  receive  per- 
haps ever,  only  what  you  may  gain  by  observation. 
You  will  never  cease  to  learn  I  hope,  the  world  is  a  vol- 
ume of  instruction,  which  will  afford  you  continual  em- 
ployment, —  peruse  it  with  attention  and  candor  and  you 
will  never  think  the  time  thus  employed  misspent.  I 
think,  Octavia,  I  would  not  leave  my  school  again  until 
you  finally  leave  it.  You  may — you  will  think  this  is 
harsh ;  you  will  not  always  think  so  ;  remember  those 
that  wish  it  must  know  better  what  is  proper  than  you 
possibly  can.  Horatio  will  come  on  for  you  as  soon  as 
your  quarter  is  out.  We  anticipate  the  time  with  plea- 
sure; employ  your  time  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make 
your  improvements  conspicuous.  A  boarding-school,  I 
know,  my  dear  Sister,  is  not  like  home,  but  reflect  a  mo- 
ment, is  it  not  necessary,  absolutely  necessary  to  be  more 
strict  in  the  government  of  20  or  30  young  ladies,  nearly 
of  an  age  and  different  dispositions,  than  a  private  fam- 
ily ?  Your  good  sense  will  easily  tell  you  it  is.  No 
task  can  be  greater  than  the  care  of  so  many  girls,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  be  partial,  but  we  may  conceal  our 
partiality.  I  should  have  a  poor  opinion  of  any  person 
that  did  not  feel  a  love  for  merit,  superior  to  what  they 
can  for  the  world  in  general.  I  should  never  approve 
of  such  general  love.  I  say  this  not  because  I  think 
you  are  discontented,  far  from  it — your  letters  tell  us 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,  31 

quite  the  reverse  and  I  believe  it.  Surely,  Octavia,  you 
must  allow  that  no  woman  was  ever  better  calculated  to 
govern  a  school  than  Mrs.  Rawson.  She  governs  by 
the  love  with  which  she  always  inspires  her  scholars. 
You  have  been  indulged,  Octavia,  so  we  have  all.  I  was 
discontented  when  I  first  went  from  home.  I  dare  say 
you  have  had  some  disagreeable  sensations,  yet  your 
reason  will  convince  you,  you  ought  not  to  have  had. 
You  had  no  idea  when  you  left  home  of  any  difference  in 
your  manner  of  living.  I  knew  you  would  easily  be 
reconciled  to  it  and  therefore  said  but  little  to  you  about 
it.  Yesterday  Miss  Haskell's  letter,  which  I  so  much 
wished  for  and  so  highly  prize,  was  sent  me ;  tell  her  to 
trust  no  more  letters  to  the  politeness  of  Mr.  Jewett,1 
for  he  will  forget  to  deliver  them ;  he  has  been  studying 
in  the  same  office  with  Horatio  ever  since  he  returned 
and  never  told  him  he  had  a  letter  forme  till  I  told  Ho- 
ratio to  ask  him.  I  did  get  it  at  last  and  will  answer  it 
as  soon  as  I  have  an  opportunity,  which  I  expect  soon, 
my  letters  are  of  too  little  consequence  to  send  by  Post. 
Tell  Miss  Haskell  how  highly  I  am  obliged  to  her  for 
every  letter,  and  how  much  it  gratifies  me  to  have  her 
write  thus.  My  love  and  esteem  ever  awaits  our  good 
Mrs.  Rawson,  and  hope  she  does  not  intend  my  last  let- 
ter shall  go  unanswered.     Susan  Wyman  is  still  remem- 

1  Mr.  Jewett  married  Sally  Weeks,  a  friend  and  neighbor  of  the  Misses 
Southgate.  He  was  a  grandson  of  Aaron  Jewett,  who  built  the  first  saw- 
mill on  Algers  Falls,  Dunstan,  in  1727,  and  carried  on  what  was  then  con- 
sidered an  extensive  lumber  business. 


32         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

bered  as  the  companion  of  my  amusements  in  Medford. 
Irene  joins  me  in  love  to  her.  Betsey  Bloom  my  love  to 
her  likewise.  —  Family  are  all  well,  Octavia,  Sister  Boyd 
is  here,  been  with  us  several  days.  Let  us  hear  from  you 
when  you  have  an  opportunity.  I  should  like  to  know 
how  many  tunes  you  play,  but  you  have  never  answered 
any  of  my  enquiries  of  this  kind,  therefore  I  suppose  I 
ought  not  to  make  them.  Your  Eliza. 

Octavia. 


Scarborough,  Sept.  14,  1800. 

Tired,  stupid,  and  sleepy,  I  feel  that  I  can  write  noth- 
ing instructive  or  amusing.  Oh  these  summer  balls  are 
not  the  thing,  but  it  was  much  more  comfortable  than 
I  expected.  My  ears  were  continually  assailed  with 
lamentations  that  you  were  not  present.  Mr.  Kinsman 
would  certainly  have  gone  out  for  you  (so  he  said)  had 
he  ever  been  at  our  house.  He  really  asked  one  or  two 
gentlemen  to  go.  He  is  a  frothy  fellow.  He  rattles 
without  a  spark  of  fancy  and  stuns  you  with  his  volu- 
bility, as  anything  hollow  or  empty  always  makes  the 
most  noise.  I  told  him  I  received  a  letter  from  you 
yesterday.  He  gave  a  pious  ejaculation  to  heaven, 
turned  gracefully  on  his  heel  and  entreated  in  the  most 
humble  manner  that  I  would  grant  him  a  sight  of  one 
line !  I  refused  as  I  thought  him  too  insignificant  an 
animal  to  be  so  much  honored.  Col.  Boyd  arrived  last 
night,  I  found  him  in  the  parlor  when  I  went  down  to 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         33 

breakfast,  he  enquired  for  you.  Mr.  Derby  and  Mr. 
Coffin  will  leave  town  to-day  or  to-morrow  for  Boston, 
they  undoubtedly  will  call  and  see  you.  'Twill  be  a 
good  opportunity  to  send  me  the  money  if  Mamma 
pleases.  Harriet  will  sail  to-morrow  or  next  day,  she 
sends  an  abundance  of  love.  Eliza. 

Octavia. 

Bath,  October,  Sunday. 

After  a  fortnight  very  pleasantly  spent  in  Wiscassett 
I  return  to  Bath.  In  my  last  I  mentioned  that  Judge 
Lowell's  family  were  expected  in  Wiscassett;  they  came 
immediately  after,  and  Eliza,  the  youngest,  brought 
letters  from  Ellen  Coffin,  thus  I  very  readily  got 
acquainted  with  them.  Judge  Lowell  appears  to  be 
one  of  the  mildest,  most  amiable  men  I  ever  saw. 
Mrs.  Lowell  is  a  fine  ladylike  woman,  yet  her  manners 
are  such  as  would  have  been  admired  50  years  ago, 
there  is  too  much  appearance  of  whalebone  and  buck- 
ram to  please  the  depraved  taste  of  the  present  age. 
Nanny  L.,  the  oldest  daughter,  is  animated,  sensible, 
enthusiastic,  and  very  easy  and  pleasing  in  her  conver- 
sation and  manners,  you  would  be  delighted  with  her 
conversation — 'tis  elegant  and  refined,  she  has  no  airs. 
Eliza  is  a  little,  charming,  sweet  creature,  she  is  about 
17  or  18,  short,  fat,  and  a  blooming  complexion,  hand- 
some blue  eyes,  light  hair,  beautiful  dimples,  artless 
and  unaffected  in  her  manners,  —  indeed  I  was  de- 
lighted with  her,  she  is  so  perfectly  amiable  in   her 


34         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

appearance.  I  was  much  pleased  at  an  acquaintance 
with  them.  At  Wiscassett  I  was  invited  to  accompany 
them  to  Bath,  as  they  were  going  in  a  boat.  I  accepted 
with  pleasure.  In  the  morning,  which  was  Monday, 
they  called  for  me  and  I  went  with  them  as  far  as 
Tincham's  where  they  kept ;  at  last,  after  a  long  debate, 
it  was  thought  too  hazardous  to  go  by  water  while  the 
wind  blew  so  violently,  'twas  determined  to  go  by  land. 
Mr.  Lee  took  the  two  Miss  Lowells  and  myself  in  his 
carriage,  which  holds  4  very  charmingly.  Judge  Lowell 
and  wife  in  a  chaise  with  a  boy  to  carry  it  back.  Judge 
Bourne  in  a  chair  with  a  boy,  and  Mr.  Merrill  on  horse- 
back. About  5  miles  on  our  way  Mr.  Lee  took  Mr. 
Merrill's  horse  and  he  sat  in  with  us,  and  he  sang  us  a 
number  of  songs  ;  we  had  a  charming  time.  At  the  ferry 
Mr.  Lee,  Mr.  Merrill,  and  the  boys  with  the  chaise  left 
us ;  we  then  all  got  into  a  boat  and  landed  at  Uncle's 
wharf ;  'tis  about  3  miles,  a  most  charming  sail,  indeed 
we  had  a  very  pleasant  time.  They  went  directly  to 
Page's,  and  in  the  evening  I  went  up  to  see  them ;  left 
them  at  8  and  with  real  regret.  I  had  passed  several 
pleasant  hours  in  their  society.  They  set  out  in  the 
morning  for  Portland.  Only  think  of  Eleanor  going  to 
be  married ;  'tis  no  more  than  I  expected  and  believed 
at  the  moment  I  heard  it.  Poor  Mrs.  Sumner,  what  an 
afflicting  loss  she  has  met  with,  my  heart  bleeds  while  I 
think  how  very  fond  she  was  of  the  little  creature,  she 
was  a  lovely  child.  How  do  all  do  at  home  ?  I  long  to 
get  home,  I  never  wanted  to  see  home  more  in  my  life, 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         35 

yet  I  am  very  happy  here.  I  wish  Mamma  would  send 
me  two  of  my  cotton  shifts  and  my  habit  or  great-coat 
to  ride  home  in ;  send  them  by  Uncle.  Pray  get  the 
instrument  tuned.  If  you  see  Moses *  soon  tell  him  I 
think  it  impossible  to  find  words  to  express  my  obliga- 
tion to  him  for  his  many  and  long  letters,  yet  I  shall 
endeavour  to  convince  him  I  have  a  due  sense  of  them. 
I  shall  make  all  the  return  in  my  power.  I  was  going 
up  to  Topsham  this  week.  I  wish  to  very  much,  but 
Mamma  King  and  Uncle  both  going,  Nanny  would  be 
quite  alone,  I  must  stay  to  comfort  her.  As  to  Aunt 
Porter  I  believe  she  will  think  I  am  never  coming  to 
Topsham.  I  begin  to  think  so  myself,  but  what  am  I  to 
do  ?  However  I  must.  I  shall  go  as  soon  as  Uncle  re- 
turns and  stay  till  I  return  home.  I  want  to  see  Aunt 
Porter  very  much.  Write  me  soon  and  tell  me  what 
news  you  hear.    Love  to  all.     Is  Pappa  gone  to  Salem  ? 

Eliza. 

To  Octavia  Southgate. 


To  Moses  Porter. 

My  most  charming  Cousin  !     Most  kind  and  conde- 
scending friend  — teach    me  how  I    may   express  the 
grateful  sense  I  have  of  the  obligations  I  owe  you ;  your 
many  and  long  letters  have  chased  away  the  spleen,  j 
they  have  rendered  me  cheerful  and  happy,  and  I  almost 

1  Moses   Porter  was  Eliza's  cousin.     He  was  the  oldest  son  of  Mrs. 
Aaron  Porter  (Paulina  King). 


36         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

forgot  I  was  so  far  from  home.  —  O  shame  on  you  ! 
Moses,  you  know  I  hate  this  formality  among  friends, 
you  know  how  gladly  I  would  throw  all  these  fash- 
ionable forms  from  our  correspondence;  but  you  still 
oppose  me,  you  adhere  to  them  with  as  much  scru- 
pulosity as  to  the  ten  commandments,  and  for  aught  I 
know  you  believe  them  equally  essential  to  the  salva- 
tion of  your  soul.  But,  Eliza,  you  have  not  answered 
my  last  letter !  True,  and  if  I  had  not  have  answered 
it,  would  you  never  have  written  me  again  —  and  I 
confess  that  I  believe  you  would  not  —  yet  I  am 
mortified  and  displeased  that  you  value  my  letters  so 
little,  that  the  exertions  to  continue  the  correspondence 
must  all  come  from  me,  that  if  I  relax  my  zeal  in  the 
smallest  degree  it  may  drop  to  the  ground  without  your 
helping  hand  to  raise  it.  I  do  think  you  are  a  charm- 
ing fellow,  —  would  not  write  because  I  am  in  debt, 
well,  be  it  so,  my  ceremonious  friend,  —  I  submit,  and 
though  I  transgress  by  sending  a  half  sheet  more  than 
you  ever  did,  yet  I  assure  you  'twas  to  convince  you  of 
the  violence  of  my  anger  which  could  induce  me  to 
forget  the  rules  of  politeness.  I  am  at  Wiscassett.  I 
have  seen  Rebecca  every  day,  she  is  handsome  as  ever, 
and  we  both  of  us  were  in  constant  expectation  of  see- 
ing you  for  2  or  3  days,  you  did  not  come  and  we  were 
disappointed. 

I  leave  here  for  Bath  next  week.  I  have  had  a 
ranting  time,  and  if  I  did  not  feel  so  offended,  I  would 
tell  you  more  about  it. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         37 

As  I  look  around  me  I  am  surprised  at  the  happiness 
which  is  so  generally  enjoyed  in  families,  and  that  mar- 
riages which  have  not  love  for  a  foundation  on  more 
than  one  side  at  most,  should  produce  so  much  apparent 
harmony.  I  may  be  censured  for  declaring  it  as  my 
opinion  that  not  one  woman  in  a  hundred  marries  for 
love.  A  woman  of  taste  and  sentiment  will  surely  see 
but  a  very  few  whom  she  could  love,  and  it  is  altogether 
uncertain  whether  either  of  them  will  particularly  dis- 
tinguish her.  If  they  should,  surely  she  is  very  fortu- 
nate, but  it  would  be  one  of  fortune's  random  favors 
and  such  as  we  have  no  right  to  expect.  The  female 
mind  I  believe  is  of  a  very  pliable  texture;  if  it  were 
not  we  should  be  wretched  indeed.  Admitting  as  a 
known  truth  that  few  women  marry  those  whom  they 
would  prefer  to  all  the  world  if  they  could  be  viewed  by 
them  with  equal  affection,  or  rather  that  there  are  often 
others  whom  they  could  have  preferred  if  they  had  felt 
that  affection  for  them  which  would  have  induced  them 
to  offer  themselves, — admitting  this  as  a  truth  not  to 
be  disputed,  —  is  it  not  a  subject  of  astonishment  that 
happiness  is  not  almost  banished  from  this  connexion  ? 
Gratitude  is  undoubtedly  the  foundation  of  the  esteem 
we  commonly  feel  for  a  husband.  One  that  has  pre- 
ferred us  to  all  the  world,  one  that  has  thought  us 
possessed  of  every  quality  to  render  him  happy,  surely 
merits  our  gratitude.  If  his  character  is  good  —  if  he 
is  not  displeasing  in  his  person  or  manners  —  what 
objection  can  we  make  that  will  not  be  thought  frivo- 


38         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

lous  by  the  greater  part  of  the  world  ?  —  yet  I  think 
there  are  many  other  things  necessary  for  happiness, 
and  the  world  should  never  compel  me  to  marry  a  man 
because  I  could  not  give  satisfactory  reasons  for  not 
liking  him.  I  do  not  esteem  marriage  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  happiness,  and  that  it  does  not  always  bring 
happiness  we  must  every  day  witness  in  our  acquaint- 
ance. A  single  life  is  considered  too  generally  as  a 
reproach ;  but  let  me  ask  you,  which  is  the  most  despi- 
cable—  she  who  marries  a  man  she  scarcely  thinks  well 
of  —  to  avoid  the  reputation  of  an  old  maid  —  or  she, 
who  with  more  delicacy,  than  marry  one  she  could  not 
highly  esteem,  preferred  to  live  single  all  her  life,  and 
had  wisdom  enough  to  despise  so  mean  a  sacrifice,  to 
the  opinion  of  the  rabble,  as  the  woman  who  marries  a 
man  she  has  not  much  love  for  —  must  make.  I  wish 
not  to  alter  the  laws  of  nature  —  neither  will  I  quarrel 
with  the  rules  which  custom  has  established  and  ren- 
dered indispensably  necessary  to  the  harmony  of  so- 
ciety. But  every  being  who  has  contemplated  human 
nature  on  a  large  scale  will  certainly  justify  me  when  I 
declare  that  the  inequality  of  privilege  between  the 
sexes  is  very  sensibly  felt  by  us  females,  and  in  no 
instance  is  it  greater  than  in  the  liberty  of  choosing  a 
partner  in  marriage;  true,  we  have  the  liberty  of  re- 
fusing those  we  don't  like,  but  not  of  selecting  those 
we  do.  This  is  undoubtedly  as  it  should  be.  But  let 
me  ask  you,  what  must  be  that  love  which  is  alto- 
gether voluntary,  which  we  can  withhold  or  give,  which 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        39 

sleeps  in  dulness  and  apathy  till  it  is  requested  to 
brighten  into  life  ?  Is  it  not  a  cold,  lifeless  dictate  of 
the  head,  —  do  we  not  weigh  all  the  conveniences  and 
inconveniences  which  will  attend  it  ?  And  after  a 
long  calculation,  in  which  the  heart  never  was  con- 
sulted, we  determine  whether  it  is  most  prudent  to  love 
or  not. 

How  I  should  despise  a  soul  so  sordid,  so  mean ! 
How  I  abhor  the  heart  which  is  regulated  by  mechan- 
ical rules,  which  can  say  "  thus  far  will  I  go  and  no 
farther,"  whose  feelings  can  keep  pace  with  their  con- 
venience, and  be  awakened  at  stated  periods,  —  a  mere 
piece  of  clockwork  which  always  moves  right !  How 
far  less  valuable  than  that  being  who  has  a  soul  to 
govern  her  actions,  and  though  she  may  not  always  be 
coldly  prudent,  yet  she  will  sometimes  be  generous  and 
noble,  and  that  the  other  never  can  be.  After  all,  I 
must  own  that  a  woman  of  delicacy  never  will  suffer 
her  esteem  to  ripen  into  love  unless  she  is  convinced 
of  a  return.  Though  our  first  approaches  to  love  may 
be  involuntary,  yet  I  should  be  sorry  if  we  had  no 
power  of  controlling  them  if  occasion  required.  There 
is  a  happy  conformity  or  pliability  in  the  female  mind 
which  seems  to  have  been  a  gift  of  nature  to  enable 
them  to  be  happy  with  so  few  privileges, — and  another 
thing,  they  have  more  gratitude  in  their  dispositions 
than  men,  and  there  is  a  something  particularly  gratify- 
ing to  the  heart  in  being  beloved,  if  the  object  is 
worthy;  it  produces  a  something  like,  and  "Pity  melts 


40        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

the  heart  to  love."  Added  to  these  there  is  a  self-love 
which  does  more  than  all  the  rest.  Our  vanity  ('tis 
an  ugly  word  but  I  can't  find  a  better)  is  gratified  by 
the  distinguished  preference  given  us.  There  must  be 
an  essential  difference  in  the  dispositions  of  men  and 
women.  I  am  astonished  when  I  think  of  it  —  yet  — 
But  I  have  written  myself  into  sunshine  —  'tis  always 
my  way  when  anything  oppresses  me,  when  any  chain 
of  thoughts  particularly  occupies  my  mind,  and  I  feel 
dissatisfied  at  anything  which  I  have  not  the  power  to 
alter,  —  to  sit  down  and  unburthen  them  on  paper ;  it 
never  fails  to  alleviate  me,  and  I  generally  give  full 
scope  to  the  feelings  of  the  moment,  and  as  I  write  all 
disagreeable  thoughts  evaporate,  and  I  end  contented 
that  things  shall  remain  as  they  are.  When  I  began 
this  it  absolutely  appeared  to  me  that  no  woman,  or 
rather  not  one  in  a  hundred,  married  the  man  she  should 
prefer  to  all  the  world  —  not  that  I  ever  could  suppose 
that  at  the  time  she  married  him  she  did  not  prefer  him 
to  all  others,  —  but  that  she  would  have  preferred 
another  if  he  had  professed  to  love  her  as  well  as  the 
one  she  married.  Indeed,  I  believe  no  woman  of  deli- 
cacy suffers  herself  to  think  she  could  love  any  one 
before  she  had  discovered  an  affection  for  her.  For 
my  part  I  should  never  ask  the  question  of  myself  — 
do  I  love  such  a  one,  if  I  had  reason  to  think  he  loved 
me  —  and  I  believe  there  are  many  who  love  that  never 
confessed  it  to  themselves.  My  Pride,  my  delicacy, 
would  all  be  hurt  if  I  discovered  such  unasked  for  love, 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        41 

even  in  my  own  bosom.  I  would  strain  every  nerve 
and  rouse  every  faculty  to  quell  the  first  appearance  of 
it.  There  is  no  danger,  however.  I  could  never  love 
without  being  beloved,  and  I  am  confident  in  my  own 
mind  that  no  person  whom  I  could  love  would  ever 
think  me  sufficiently  worthy  to  love  me.  But  I  con- 
gratulate myself  that  I  am  at  liberty  to  refuse  those  I 
don't  like,  and  that  I  have  firmness  enough  to  brave  the 
sneers  of  the  world  and  live  an  old  maid,  if  I  never  find 
one  I  can  love. 


Scarborough,  Tuesday  Night. 

Dear  Mother : 

We  have  got  Miranda1  all  fix't,  only  her  clothes  to 
be  washed,  or  rather  ironed.  You  have  undoubtedly 
got  all  things  ready  for  her,  or  you  would  not  send  for 
her  immediately.  I  suppose  we  shall  send  her  over  in 
the  stage,  as  the  riding  is  as  yet  too  bad  to  go  in  a 
chaise;  she  wants  some  pocket  handkerchiefs  and  a 
pair  of  cotton  gloves  to  wear  to  school ;  she  had  3  pairs 
of  white  mitts  and  I  have  given  her  another  pair.  I 
think  she  must  have  another  dimity  skirt ;  her  jaconet 
muslin  we  could  not  fix,  for  it  wants  a  new  waist  and 
sleeves  and  a  hem  put  on  the  bottom,  and  we  could  get 

1  Miranda  and  Arixene  Southgate  were  at  this  time  aged  respectively 
twelve  and  eight  years.  Their  cousin  Sally  Leland  was  about  the  same 
age.  Frederic  Southgate,  born  in  1791,  became  a  tutor  in  Bowdoin  Col- 
lege, and  died  unmarried  in  1820. 


42         A  Girts  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

no  muslin  to  pattern  it ;  you  can  buy  a  piece  and  it  can 
be  sent  over  any  time,  she  won't  need  it  immediately. 
Charles  says  you  told  him  I  must  send  over  to  you  for 
anything  I  needed.  I  want  nothing  so  much  as  some 
new  linen  and  some  English  stockings  ;  excepting  the 
two  fine  pairs  I  have  none  but  homespun  ones.  I  should 
like  a  half  dozen  pair,  4  at  least.  If  you  see  anything 
that  would  be  light  and  handsome  for  our  summer 
gowns,  I  should  like  you  would  get  them.  Why  can't 
you  go  and  see  McLellan's  lace  shades?  Perhaps  he 
may  let  you  have  one  reasonably.  I  think  there  are 
some  for  10,  6  and  12  shillings  a  yard,  at  18  they  would 
not  come  to  more  than  9  or  10  dollars ;  you  can  look 
at  them  at  least.  I  should  like  one  very  much.  Sally 
Weeks  has  taken  one  of  them.  We  do  very  well  here, 
all  goes  on  charmingly,  only  Arixene  loses  her  thimble, 
her  needle  and  anything  to  avoid  working.  Sally  Ice- 
land has  been  here  ever  since  Miranda  returned,  and  you 
know  when  they  are  together  there  must  be  romping, 
—  however,  Frederic  has  gone  to  carry  her  home  to-day. 
Miranda  must  have  my  little  trunk.  Octavia  and  I 
both  want  little  trunks,  my  old  one  is  a  good  size.  How 
is  Sister  ?  give  my  love  to  her,  kiss  the  children ;  I  really 
miss  them,  and  our  own  don't  seem  more  natural  than 
they  did.  The  little  Isabella  1  (so  they  say  it  is)  is  Aunt 
Eliza's  darling.     I  love  that  little  thing  dearly.     I  never 

1  Isabella  Boyd,  second  child  of  Isabella  Southgate  and  Joseph  Coffin 
Boyd.  She  died  of  consumption,  the  fatal  disease  which  carried  off  so 
many  of  her  aunts,  sisters,  and  cousins. 


RUFUS   KING 
From  a  painting  by  Woods 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         43 

loved  an  infant  more  in  my  life,  Isabella  says  it  is  be- 
cause it  has  blue  eyes  ;  she  will  make  me  selfish.  I  had 
a  letter  from  Martha  yesterday,  the  third  since  you  have 
been  in  Portland ;  she  mentions  Uncle  Rufus *  and  family 
in  all  of  them.  In  her  last  but  one  she  says  Aunt  King  2 
was  confined ;  she  had  dined  there  the  Sunday  before, 
and  they  requested  her  in  a  billet  to  bring  yours  and  my 
Father's  profiles,3  which  I  gave  her  some  time  before  she 
went  away.  She  carried  them,  and  Uncle  thought  them 
good  likenesses.  She  admires  Uncle  Rufus ;  she  says 
when  he  first  called  on  her  he  stayed  two  hours,  but  she 
could  have  talked  with  him  two  days.  In  her  last  she 
says  she  was  to  have  been  introduced  at  court,  but  Aunt 
King's  confinement  prevented ;  as  soon  as  she  gets  out 
she  is  to  be  introduced.  She  says  she  shall  write  by  the 
Minerva  and  send  the  fashions  to  me.  Mr.  Smith  the 
Russian  was  here  last  week,  bro't  me  some  letters.  I 
am  now  writing  to  Martha,  to  send  by  William  Weeks ; 
'twill  be  a  fine  opportunity,  and  I  shall  write  as  much 
as  I  can ;  he  will  probably  see  her.     Mrs.  Coffin  will  be 

1  Rufus  King,  oldest  son  of  Richard  King  and  Isabella  Bragdon,  and 
brother  of  Mrs.  Southgate.  He  was  born  in  1755  and  married  Mary 
Alsop.  He  was  delegated  by  the  State  of  Massachusetts  to  the  Conven- 
tion for  framing  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  was  a  member  of 
Congress  from  Massachusetts,  Senator  of  the  United  States  from  New 
York,  and  at  this  time  Minister  to  the  Court  of  St.  James. 

2  Alary  Alsop  was  born  in  1786.  She  was  the  daughter  of  John  Alsop 
and  Mary  Frogat 

3  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Southgate's  "  profiles  "  hung  in  Mr.  King's  house  at 
Jamaica  until  about  1875,  when  they  were  given  by  his  granddaughter  to 
Mrs.  Southgate's  grandson,  Mr.  Lawrence,  of  Flushing,  L.  I. 


44        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

delighted  with  such  an  opportunity.  Don't  hurry  home 
until  you  have  staid  as  long  as  you  wish,  for  I  don't 
know  anything  at  present  that  requires  your  presence. 
I  think  I  make  a  very  good  manager,  and  tell  Sister 
Boyd  I  am  astonished  to  find  how  I  have  improved  in 
my  housewife  talents  this  last  winter.  The  children 
won't  allow  me  absolute  rule  among  them,  but  I  have 
the  worst  of  it ;  they  do  pretty  well,  considering  what  a 
young  gay  mistress  they  have.  I  sometimes  get  up  to 
dance  and  all  of  them  flock  up  to  help  me,  and  when  I 
am  tired  I  find  it  difficult  to  still  them,  so  as  I  set  the 
example  I  am  obliged  to  put  up  with  it.  I  have  not 
been  out  of  the  yard  since  I  came  home  till  this  after- 
noon. I  rode  a  mile  or  two  on  horseback  just  to  smell 
the  fresh  air.  I  never  was  more  contented  in  my  life; 
tho*  I  have  not  seen  anybody  but  Mr.  Smith  these  3 
weeks  almost,  I  have  not  had  an  hour  hang  heavily  on 
me;  'tis  charming  to  get  home  after  being  gone  so  long! 
I  believe  you  will  think  I  am  never  going  to  leave  off. 
Your  affectionate  Eliza. 

To  Mrs.  Mary  King  Southgate,  Portland. 

Portland,  March  18,  1801. 

Thank  you  for  being  so  particular  in  your  description 
of  your  eastern  tour.  I  told  you  that  Wiscassett  would 
delight  you;  ease  and  sociability  you  know  always  please 
you.  By  the  bye,  Jewett  thought  Saco  was  the  land  of 
milk  and  honey,  such  fine  buxom  girls !  so  easy  and 
familiar.    Dorcas  Stour  charmed  him  much,  her  haughty 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        45 

forbidding  manners  corresponded  with  the  dignity  of  her 
sentiments,  so  he  says,  something  congenial  in  their  dis- 
positions I  think.  But  he  has  made  his  selection  —  Miss 
Weeks  is  handsome,  censorious,  animated,  violent  in  her 
prejudices,  genteel,  impatient  of  contradiction,  speaks 
her  sentiments  very  freely,  has  many  admirers  and  many 
enemies,  — on  the  whole  a  pleasant  companion  amongst 
friends.  —  How  think  they  will  do  together  ?  Jewett 
you  know. 

Last  evening  I  was  out  at  Broads  ; x  we  had  only  7  in 
our  party —  a  very  pleasant  one.  Jewett,  Horatio,  Wil- 
liam Weeks,  and  Charles  Little  were  our  beaux.  Miss 
Weeks,  Miss  Boardman  (from  Exeter),  and  myself,  the 
ladies.  Mr.  Little  is  engaged  to  Miss  Boardman  ;  he  is 
an  open,  honest,  unaffected,  plain,  clever  fellow.  She 
has  a  pleasant  face,  an  open  guileless  heart,  plain  un- 
affected manners,  a  clumsy  shape,  easy  in  company  — 
but  it  is  rather  the  ease  which  a  calm,  even  temper  pro- 
duces, than  that  which  is  acquired  in  polite  circles.  I 
think  they  are  as  much  alike  as  possible  and  'twill  be  a 
pleasant  couple.  We  played  cards,  talked  and  wrote 
crambo ;  after  we  had  scribbled  the  backs  of  two  packs 
of  cards,  cut  half  of  them  up,  and  eat  our  supper,  we  set 
out  for  home,  about  one  o'clock.  You  say  in  your  last 
that  if  reports  are  true,  I  am  on  the  highway  to  matri- 
mony, —  you  know  what  I  always  said  with  regard  to 
these  things  ;  if  they  are  true,  well  and  good  —  if  they 
are  not,  let  them  take  their  course,  they  will  be  short- 

1  Broads,  a  tavern  near  Portland,  to  which  gay  parties  of  young  people 
went  on  frolics. 


46        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

lived.  I  despise  the  conduct  of  those  girls  who  think 
that  every  man  who  pays  them  any  attention  is  seriously 
in  love  with  them,  and  begin  to  bridle  up,  look  conscious, 
fearful  lest  every  word  the  poor  fellow  utters  should  be 
a  declaration  of  love.  I  have  no  idea  that  every  gentle- 
man that  has  a  particular  partiality  for  a  lady  thinks 
seriously  of  being  connected  with  her,  and  I  think  any 
lady  puts  herself  in  a  most  awkward  situation  to  appear 
in  constant  fear  or  expectation  that  the  gentleman  is 
going  to  make  love  to  her.  I  despise  coquetry,  —  every 
lady  says  the  same,  you  will  say,  — but  if  I  know  myself 
at  all  —  my  heart  readily  assents  to  its  truth  —  I  think 
no  lady  has  a  right  to  encourage  hopes  that  she  means 
never  to  gratify,  but  I  think  she  is  much  to  blame  if  she 
considers  these  little  attentions  as  a  proof  of  love ;  they 
often  mean  nothing,  and  should  be  treated  as  such. 
The  gentleman  in  question  I  own  pays  me  more  atten- 
tion than  any  other  gentleman,  yet  I  say  sincerely,  I 
don't  think  he  means  any  thing  more  than  to  please  his 
fancy  for  the  present.  I  pride  myself  upon  my  sincerity, 
and  if  I  ever  am  engaged,  I  trust  it  will  be  to  one  whom 
I  shall  not  be  ashamed  to  acknowledge.  Our  intimacy 
has  been  of  long  standing.  He  and  Enoch  Jones  were 
Martha's  most  intimate  acquaintance,  they  were  there 
almost  every  evening.  Here  comes  Enoch  and  William 
[Weeks],  we  used  to  say  as  soon  as  we  heard  the  knocker 
in  the  evening.  I  was  always  at  the  Doctor's  a  great 
part  of  the  time  I  spent  in  Portland,  I  could  not  but  be 
intimate  with  them.  I  liked  them  both,  they  were  pleas- 
ant companions,  and  I  was  always  glad  to  see  them  come 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        47 

in ;  —  since  that  time,  Enoch  has  been  gone  most  of  the 
time,  and  William  has  been  left  alone;  —  true,  he  has  this 
winter  been  more  attentive  to  me  than  usual ;  he  lent 
me  books,  drawings,  and  music ;  he  used  often  to  be  my 
gallant  home  from  parties  if  I  walked,  and  if  I  rode  help 
me  to  the  sleigh,  yet  every  gentleman  does  the  same,  — 
all  have  a  favorite,  some  for  a  month,  some  a  little  longer. 
It  seems  like  making  you  a  confidant  to  talk  thus,  but  I 
say  many  things  which  would  appear  ridiculous  if  com- 
municated to  a  third  person,  and  I  know  you  would  have 
too  much  delicacy  to  communicate  any  thing  which 
might  hurt  my  feelings.  I  have  heard  all  these  stories 
before,  yet  I  must  act  and  judge  for  myself.  I  know 
better  than  any  other  person  can,  how  far  they  are  true, 
and  I  candidly  confess  that  he  never  said  a  word  to  me 
which  I  could  possibly  construe  into  a  declaration  of 
love,  not  the  most  faint  or  distant.  Then  think  for  a 
moment  how  ridiculous  it  would  be  for  me  to  alter  my 
conduct  towards  him  !  No  !  while  he  treats  me  as  a 
friend,  I  shall  treat  him  as  such ;  and  let  the  world  say 
what  they  will,  I  will  endeavor  to  act  in  a  manner  that 
my  conscience  will  justify,  —  to  steer  between  the  rocks 
of  prudery  and  coquetry,  and  take  my  own  sense  of  pro- 
priety as  a  pilot  that  will  conduct  me  safe.  I  should 
not  have  been  thus  particular,  but  I  felt  unwilling  that 
you  should  be  led  into  error  that  I  could  easily  remove 
from  your  mind ;  it  would  seem  like  giving  a  silent 
assent,  as  I  confess  to  write  as  I  think  to  you,  and  to 
speak  openly  on  all  occasions,  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  say 
more  to  you  on  this  affair  than  I  ever  have  to  any  other. 


48         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Let  the  world  still  have  it  as  they  will.  I  confess  it 
would  be  more  pleasing  to  me  if  my  name  was  not  so 
much  1  .  .  .  what  Johnson  says  of  an  author  may  apply 
...  is  much  known  in  the  world.  That  his  name  like 
.  .  .  must  be  beat  backward  and  forward  as  it  falls  to 
the  ground.  I  recollect  in  a  former  letter  you  asked 
why  I  did  not  say  more  of  particular  characters,  and 
among  my  acquaintance  select  some  and  give  you  a  few 
characteristic  sketches.  The  truth  is  —  I  felt  afraid  to, 
I  did  not  know  but  you  might  mention  many  things 
which  would  make  me  enemies.  I  am  always  willing  to 
speak  my  opinion  without  reserve  on  any  character,  be- 
cause I  should  take  care  that  I  spoke  it  before  those  who 
would  not  abuse  the  frankness ;  but  letters  may  be  mis- 
carried, may  fall  into  hands  we  know  not  of,  —  but  I 
never  think  of  these,  or  I  am  sure  I  should  burn  this 
in  a  moment,  —  another  thing  that  it  requires  a  quiet 
discernment,  a  correct  judgment  and  a  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,  of  human  nature,  to  form  a  just  char- 
acter of  any  one  that  we  are  not  intimately  acquainted 
with.  However,  we  all  of  us  form  an  opinion  of  every 
person  we  see,  and  whatever  I  shall  say  and  have  said 
you  must  recollect  is  only  the  opinion  of  one  who  is 
oftener  wrong  than  right,  and  you  can  form  no  correct 
idea  of  my  character  from  what  I  say. 

Scarborough,  March,  Sunday. 

P.    S.  —  Congratulate    me,  I   am   at   home   at  last ! 
Come  and  see  us,  —  we  expect  Miss  Tappan  to-morrow 

1  The  manuscript  which  was  under  the  seal  was  so  torn  as  to  make 
this  sentence  illegible. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         49 

and  Paulina  Porter1  and  Miranda  Southgate.  I  wish 
much  to  see  Miss  T.  I  think  I  shall  like  her  ;  tell  her 
she  does  not  know  what  she  lost  last  week,  —  a  young 
gentleman  came  several  miles  out  of  his  way  only  to  see 
her ;  she  was  not  here  and  he  returned  to  Portland  with 
a  heavy  heart.     Jewett  says  she  is  rather  shy. 

I  meant  to  have  written  more  about  Wiscassett,  about 
Miss  R.,2  but  I  must  leave  that  for  another  letter.  I 
have  a  great  deal  to  say  on  that  head,  —  "  exercise  the 
same  coolness  and  judgment  as  in  choosing  a  horse !" 
I  heard  a  gentleman  make  really  the  same  observation, 
and  yet  that  very  gentleman  is  raving,  distractedly  in 
love,  —  he  is  a  little  calmer  now,  but  he  was  a  madman. 
He,  like  you,  always  talks  of  his  insensibility,  his  cold- 
ness and  discretion,  and  he,  like  yon,  is  always  upon 
extremes,  extravagant  beyond  all  bounds.  More  here- 
after, 

Mr.  Moses  Porter. 

1  Paulina  Porter,  daughter  of  Dr.  Aaron  Porter  of  Portland.  She  mar- 
ried, first  Enoch  Jones,  and  then  Edward  Beecher.  Her  sister  Harriet 
married  Lyman  Beecher. 

2  Miss  Rice's  father  was  Joseph  Rice ;  he  raised  a  company  of  fifty  men 
and,  after  the  receipt  of  the  news  of  the  skirmish  at  Lexington,  set  out  as 
soon  as  possible  for  Cambridge  and  joined  Colonel  Phinney's  regiment.  It 
was  the  first  regiment  that  marched  into  Boston  after  its  evacuation  by  the 
British  on  the  17th  of  March,  1776.  In  a  letter  from  Rufus  King  to  Dr. 
Southgate,  dated  August  6,  1776,  he  says  :  "Phinney's  regiment  is  ordered 
from  Boston  to  Ticonderoga.  I  guess  the  pious  Elder  would  as  lieve 
tarry  where  he  is,  but  he  was  formerly  fond  of  action  —  hope  now  he 
will  be  satisfied.  .  .  .  Gen.  Gates  will  doubtless  make  a  stand  at  Ticon- 
deroga." 


50         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Thursday,  April  8th. 

I  have  been  thinking  on  that  part  of  your  letter 
which  interests  me  most,  respecting  the  propriety  of 
conduct,  opinion  of  the  world,  etc.,  etc.  I  don't  exactly 
recollect  what  I  wrote  in  my  last,  but  I  am  positive  you 
have  mistaken  my  meaning,  or  at  least  have  taken  what 
I  said  on  too  large  a  scale ;  —  as  a  general  rule  of  con- 
duct, in  so  extensive  a  sense  as  you  talk  about,  such 
doctrine  would  indeed  be  pernicious.  But  whatever  I 
said  I  meant  to  apply  to  this  particular  case,  and  per- 
haps did  not  express  myself  so  clearly  as  I  ought  to 
have  done.  You  have  described  principles  which  I 
have  ever  condemned  —  as  those  I  now  act  upon.  Per- 
haps I  shall  find  it  impossible  fully  to  explain  my  sen- 
timents on  this  subject  —  it  is  of  a  delicate  nature; 
and  many  things  I  shall  say  will  probably  bear  a  mis- 
construction. However,  I  trust  to  your  candor  to  judge 
with  lenity,  and  to  your  knowledge  of  my  heart,  to  be- 
lieve I  would  not  intentionally  deviate  from  the  laws  of 
female  delicacy  and  propriety.  Reputation  undoubtedly 
is  of  great  importance  to  all,  but  to  a  female  'tis  every 
thing,  —  once  lost  'tis  forever  lost.  Whatever  I  may 
have  said,  my  heart  too  sensibly  tells  me  I  have  none  of 
that  boasted  independence  of  mind  which  can  stand  col- 
lected in  its  own  worth,  and  let  the  censure  and  malice 
of  the  world  pass  by  as  the  "idle  wind  which  we  regard 
not."  I  have  ever  thought  that  to  be  conscious  of  doing 
right  was  insufficient ;  but  that  it  must  appear  so  to 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,         51 

the  world.  How  I  could  have  blundered  upon  a  senti- 
ment which  I  despise,  or  how  I  could  have  written  any- 
thing to  bear  such  a  construction  as  you  have  put  upon 
a  part  of  my  letter,  I  know  not.  When  I  said  that  I 
should  let  these  reports  pass  off  without  notice  or  pre- 
tending to  vindicate  myself,  'twas  not  because  I  de- 
spised the  opinion  of  the  world,  but  as  the  most  effectual 
method  to  preserve  it !  —  You  say  as  well  as  myself,  that 
whatever  we  say  in  vindication  of  ourselves,  only  makes 
the  matter  worse.  When  I  said,  that  I  meant  not  to 
alter  my  conduct  while  my  conscience  did  not  accuse 
me,  I  had  no  idea  that  you  would  suppose  my  conduct 
towards  him  had  ever  been  of  a  kind  that  required  an 
alteration,  or  any  thing  more  pointed  than  to  any  other 
gentleman.  I  supposed  you  would  infer  from  what  I 
said  that  it  was  such  as  propriety  and  a  regard  for  my 
reputation  would  sanction.  I  know  not  what  you  think 
it  has  been,  but  if  I  can  judge  of  my  own  actions,  — 
their  motives  I  know  I  can,  but  I  mean  the  outward 
appearance,  —  I  have  never  treated  him  with  any  more 
distinction  than  any  other  gentleman,  nor  have  ap- 
peared more  pleased  with  his  attentions  than  with  an- 
other's ;  believe  me,  I  have  kept  constantly  in  view  the 
opinion  of  the  world,  and  if  you  knew  every  circum- 
stance of  my  life,  you  would  be  convinced  my  feelings 
were  "  tremblingly  alive "  to  all  its  slanders.  But 
"something  too  much  of  this"  ;  you,  who  know  my  dis- 
position, may  easily  conceive  how  often  I  subject  my- 
self to  the  envenomed  shafts  of  censure  and  malice,  by 


52         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

that  gaiety  and  high  flow  of  spirits,  which  I  sometimes 
think  my  greatest  misfortune  to  possess, — sometimes 
I  err  in  judgment  —  don't  always  see  the  right  path,  — 
sometimes  I  see  it,  yet  the  warmth  and  ardor  of  my 
feelings  force  me  out  of  it.  Yet  in  this  affair  I  feel  con- 
fident I  have  acted  from  right  principles,  —  there  are 
a  thousand  trifling  things  which  at  times  influenced  my 
conduct,  which  you  cannot  know,  and  you  may  be  sur- 
prised when  I  say  that  his  attentions  were  of  a  kind 
that  politeness  obliged  me  to  receive,  nor  should  I  ever 
have  suspected  they  meant  any  thing  more  than  gal- 
lantry and  politeness,  had  not  the  babbles  of  the  world 
put  it  into  my  head.  You  have  been  misinformed  in 
many  respects,  I  am  convinced.  You  mentioned  his 
constant  visits  at  Sister  Boyd's.  I  declare  to  you  he 
never  was  there  a  half  dozen  times  the  three  months  I 
was  in  Portland,  excepting  the  morning  after  the  as- 
semblies, when  the  gentlemen  all  go  to  see  their  part- 
ners ;  neither  was  I  his  constant  partner  at  assemblies. 
I  never  danced  but  two  dances  in  an  evening  with  him 
all  winter,  excepting  once,  and  then  there  was  a  mis- 
take, —  this  surely  was  nothing  remarkable,  for  I  always 
danced  two  with  Mr.  Smith  at  every  assembly  we  were 
at.  I  danced  as  much  with  one  as  the  other.  True,  he 
was  my  partner  at  2  parties  at  Broads.  I  at  the  time 
asked  Horatio,  when  he  mentioned  the  party,  why  he 
would  not  carry  me ;  he  said  if  I  was  asked  by  any 
other,  to  say  I  was  going  with  my  brother,  would  be 
considered  as  a  tacit  declaration  that  I  had  an  aversion 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         53 

to  going  with  him,  therefore  'twould  have  been  folly. 
You  cannot  judge  unless  you  know  a  thousand  customs 
and  every  .  .  .  which  they  have  in  Portland.  But  I 
declare  to  you,  Cousin,  I  am  much  gratified  that  you 
told  me  what  you  thought  —  had  you  have  locked  it  in 
your  bosom,  I  should  never  have  had  an  opportunity  to 
vindicate  myself.  I  beg  of  you  always  to  write  with 
freedom,  always  write  with  the  same  openness  you  did 
in  your  last  —  'tis  one  of  the  greatest  advantages  I  ex- 
pect to  derive  from  our  correspondence — I  enjoin  it 
upon  you  as  you  value  my  happiness.  I  told  you  I 
would  show  you  some  of  Martha's  letters  ;  I  had  one 
from  her  since  I  wrote  you,  in  which  she  says  I  must 
on  no  condition  whatever  show  her  letters,  —  however, 
I  will  read  you  some  passages  in  some  of  them.  You 
shall  see  some  parts ;  I  will  make  my  peace  with  —  in- 
deed I  know  she  would  not  object.  I  love  to  show  you 
her  letters  because  you  feel  something  as  I  do  in  read- 
ing them.  You  admire  her  or  you  should  not  be  the 
friend  of  Eliza. 

P.  S.  I  wrote  this  letter  last  night  intending  to  keep 
it  by  me  to  send  whenever  I  please ;  all  the  family  were 
absent,  left  me  reading,  —  I  read  your  letter,  the  house 
was  silent,  and  I  was  entirely  alone.  I  knew  I  should 
not  have  another  opportunity  as  convenient  for  giving 
you  my  sentiments  —  no  fear  of  intrusion  —  and  I  there- 
fore took  my  pen  and  scribbled  what  I  now  send  you, 
but  I  believe  I  must  adopt  your  plan  and  send  it  im- 


54         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

mediately  to  the  office,  —  but  I  repent  and  burn  it,  and 
I  find  on  reading  it  that  I  have  said  not  half  I  meant 
to  ;  but  I  will  send  it  away  immediately.  I  am  almost 
ashamed  to  answer  yours  so  soon,  'tis  so  unlike  the 
example  you  set  me  that  I  suppose  you  will  say  'tis  a 
tacit  disapprobation  of  your  conduct. 

Scarborough,  April  9th. 
Mr.  Moses  Porter,  Biddeford. 


Sunday,  Scarborough,  May  — ,  1801. 

When  one  commences  an  action  with  a  full  convic- 
tion they  shall  not  acquit  themselves  with  honor,  they 
are  sure  not  to  succeed ;  imprest  with  this  idea  I  write 
you.  I  positively  declare  I  have  felt  a  great  reluctance 
ever  since  we  concluded  on  the  plan.  I  am  aware  of 
the  construction  you  may  put  on  this,  but  call  it  affecta- 
tion or  what  you  will,  I  assure  you  it  proceeds  from  dif- 
ferent motives.  When  I  first  proposed  this  correspon- 
dence, I  thought  only  of  the  amusement  and  instruc- 
tion it  would  afford  me.  I  almost  forgot  that  I  should 
have  any  part  to  perform.  Since,  however,  I  have  re- 
flected on  the  scheme  as  it  was  about  to  be  carried 
into  execution,  I  have  felt  a  degree  of  diffidence  which 
has  almost  induced  me  to  hope  you  would  forget  the 
engagement.  Fully  convinced  of  my  inability  to  afford 
pleasure  or  instruction  to  an  enlarged  mind,  I  rely 
wholly  on  your  candor  and  generosity  to  pardon  the 
errors  which  will  cloud  my  best  efforts.     When  I  re- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         55 

fleet  on  the  severity  of  your  criticisms  in  general,  I 
shrink  at  the  idea  of  exposing  to  you  what  will  never 
stand  the  test.  Yet  did  I  not  imagine  you  would  throw 
aside  the  critic  and  assume  the.  friend,  I  should  never 
dare,  with  all  my  vanity  (and  I  am  not  deficient),  give 
you  so  fine  an  opportunity  to  exercise  your  favorite  pro- 
pensity. I  know  you  will  laugh  at  all  this,  and  I  must 
confess  it  appears  rather  a  folly,  first  to  request  your 
correspondence  and  then  with  so  much  diffidence  and 
false  delicacy,  apparently  to  extort  a  compliment,  talk 
about  my  inability  and  the  like.  You  will  not  think  I 
intend  a  compliment  when  I  say  I  have  ever  felt  a  dis- 
agreeable restraint  when  conversing  before  you.  Often, 
when  with  all  the  confidence  I  possess  I  have  brought 
forward  an  opinion,  said  all  my  imagination  could  sug- 
gest in  support  of  it,  and  viewed  with  pleasure  the  little 
fabric,  which  I  imagined  to  be  founded  on  truth  and 
justice,  with  one  word  you  would  crush  to  the  ground 
that  which  had  cost  me  so  many  to  erect.  These  things 
I  think  in  time  will  humble  my  vanity,  I  wish  sincerely 
that  they  may. 

Yet  I  believe  I  possess  decent  talents  and  should 
have  been  quite  another  being  had  they  been  properly 
cultivated.  But  as  it  is,  I  can  never  get  over  some  lit- 
tle prejudices  which  I  have  imbibed  long  since,  and 
which  warp  all  the  faculties  of  my  mind.  I  was  pushed 
on  to  the  stage  of  action  without  one  principle  to  guide 
my  actions,  —  the  impulse  of  the  moment  was  the  only 
incitement.     I  have  never  committed  any  grossly  im- 


56         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

prudent  action,  yet  I  have  been  folly's  darling  child.  I 
trust  they  were  rather  errors  of  the  head  than  the 
heart,  for  we  have  all  a  kind  of  inherent  power  to  dis- 
tinguish between  right  and  wrong,  and  if  before  the 
heart  becomes  contaminated  by  the  maxims  of  society 
it  is  left  to  act  from  impulse  though  it  have  no  fixt 
principle,  yet  it  will  not  materially  err.  Possessing  a 
gay  lively  disposition,  I  pursued  pleasure  with  ardor.  I 
wished  for  admiration,  and  took  the  means  which  would 
be  most  likely  to  obtain  it.  I  found  the  mind  of  a 
female,  if  such  a  thing  existed,  was  thought  not  worth 
cultivating.  I  disliked  the  trouble  of  thinking  for  my- 
self and  therefore  adopted  the  sentiments  of  others  — 
fully  convinced  to  adorn  my  person  and  acquire  a  few 
little  accomplishments  was  sufficient  to  secure  me  the 
admiration  of  the  society  I  frequented.  I  cared  but 
little  about  the  mind.  I  learned  to  flutter  about  with 
a  thoughtless  gaiety  —  a  mere  feather  which  every 
breath  had  power  to  move.  I  left  school  with  a  head 
full  of  something,  tumbled  in  without  order  or  connec- 
tion. I  returned  home  with  a  determination  to  put  it 
in  more  order ;  I  set  about  the  great  work  of  culling  the 
best  part  to  make  a  few  sentiments  out  of  — to  serve  as 
a  little  ready  change  in  my  commerce  with  the  world. 
But  I  soon  lost  all  patience  (a  virtue  I  do  not  possess 
in  an  eminent  degree),  for  the  greater  part  of  my  ideas 
I  was  obliged  to  throw  away  without  knowing  where  I 
got  them  or  what  I  should  do  with  them  ;  what  remained 
I  pieced  as  ingeniously  as  I  could  into  a  few  patchwork 


UNIVE 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.  57 

opinions,  —  they  are  now  almost  worn  threadbare,  and  as 
I  am  about  quilting  a  few  more,  I  beg  you  will  send  me 
any  spare  ideas  you  may  chance  to  have  that  will  an- 
swer my  turn.  By  this  time  I  suppose  you  have  found 
out  what  you  have  a  right  to  expect  from  this  corre- 
spondence, and  probably  at  this  moment  lay  down  the 
letter  with  a  long  sage-like  face  to  ponder  on  my  ego- 
tism. —  Tis  a  delightful  employment,  I  will  leave  you 
to  enjoy  it  while  I  eat  my  dinner  :  And  what  is  the 
result,  Cousin  ?  I  suppose  a  few  exclamations  on  the 
girl's  vanity  to  think  no  subject  could  interest  me  but 
where  herself  was  concerned,  or  the  barrenness  of  her 
head  that  could  write  on  no  other  subject.  But  she  is 
a  female •,  say  you,  with  a  manly  contempt.  Oh  you  Lords 
of  the  world,  what  are  you  that  your  unhallowed  lips 
should  dare  profane  the  fairest  part  of  creation  !  But 
honestly  I  wish  to  say  something  by  way  of  apology, 
but  don't  seem  to  know  what,  —  it  is  true  I  have  a  kind 
of  natural  affection  for  myself,  I  find  no  one  more 
ready  to  pardon  my  faults  or  find  excuses  for  my  fail- 
ings—  it  is  natural  to  love  our  friends. 

I  have  positively  not  said  one  single  thing  which  I  in- 
tended when  I  sat  down  ;  my  motive  was  to  answer  your 
letter,  and  I  have  not  mentioned  my  not  having  received 
it? — Your  opinion  of  Story's  Poems  I  think  very  unjust ; 
as  to  the  man,  I  cannot  say,  for  I  know  nothing  of  him, 
but  I  think  you  are  too  severe  upon  him  ;  a  man  who 
had  not  a  "fibre  of  refinement  in  his  composition" 
could  never  have  written  some  passages  in  that  poem. 


58         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

What  is  refinement  ?  I  thought  it  was  a  delicacy  of 
taste  which  might  be  acquired,  if  not  any  thing  in  our 
nature,  —  true,  there  are  some  so  organized  that  they 
are  incapable  of  receiving  a  delicate  impression,  but  we 
won't  say  any  thing  of  such  beings.  I  just  begin  to 
feel  in  a  mood  for  answering  your  letter.  What  you  say 
of  Miss  Rice  —  I  hardly  know  how  to  refuse  the  chal- 
lenge ;  she  possesses  no  quality  above  mediocrity,  and 
yet  is  just  what  a  female  ought  to  be.  Now  what  I 
would  give  for  a  little  Logic,  or  for  a  little  skill  to  sup- 
port an  argument.  But  I  give  it  up,  for  tho'  you  might 
not  convince  me,  you  would  confound  me  with  so  many 
learned  observations  that  my  vanity  would  oblige  me 
to  say  I  was  convinced  to  prevent  the  mortification  of 
saying  I  did  not  understand  you.  How  did  you  like 
Mr.  Coffin  ?  Write  soon  and  tell  me.  We  expect  you 
to  go  to  the  fishing  party  with  us  on  Tuesday.  Mr. 
Coffin  told  us  you  would  all  come.  You  must  be  here 
by  9  o'clock  (not  before)  (in  the  morning).  My  love  to 
the  girls,  and  tell  them  —  no  !  I  '11  tell  them  myself. 

Eliza. 

To  Mr.  Moses  Porter,  Biddeford. 


Scarborough,  June  ist,  1801. 

As  to  the  qualities  of  mind  peculiar  to  each  sex,  I 
agree  with  you  that  sprightliness  is  in  favor  of  females 
and  profundity  of  males.  Their  education,  their  pur- 
suits would  create  such  a  quality  even  tho'  nature  had 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         5.9 

not  implanted  it.  The  business  and  pursuits  of  men 
require  deep  thinking,  judgment,  and  moderation,  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  females  are  under  no  necessity  of 
dipping  deep,  but  merely  "skim  the  surface,"  and  we 
too  commonly  spare  ourselves  the  exertion  which  deep 
researches  require,  unless  they  are  absolutely  necessary 
to  our  pursuits  in  life.  We  rarely  find  one  giving  them- 
selves up  to  profound  investigation  for  amusement 
merely.  Necessity  is  the  nurse  of  all  the  great  qualities  of 
the  mind;  it  explores  all  the  hidden  treasures  and  by  its 
stimulating  power  they  are  "  polished  into  brightness." 
Women  who  have  no  such  incentives  to  action  suffer 
all  the  strong  energetic  qualities  of  the  mind  to  sleep 
in  obscurity  ;  sometimes  a  ray  of  genius  gleams  through 
the  thick  clouds  with  which  it  is  enveloped,  and  irra- 
diates for  a  moment  the  darkness  of  mental  night ;  yet, 
like  a  comet  that  shoots  wildly  from  its  sphere,  it  ex- 
cites our  wonder,  and  we  place  it  among  the  phenome- 
nons  of  nature,  without  searching  for  a  natural  cause. 
Thus  it  is  the  qualities  with  which  nature  has  endowed 
us,  as  a  support  amid  the  misfortunes  of  life  and  a 
shield  from  the  allurements  of  vice,  are  left  to  moulder 
in  ruin.  In  this  dormant  state  they  become  enervated 
and  impaired,  and  at  last  die  for  want  of  exercise.  The 
little  airy  qualities  which  produce  sprightliness  are  left 
to  flutter  about  like  feathers  in  the  wind,  the  sport  of 
every  breeze. 

Women  have  more  fancy,  more  lively  imaginations 
than  men.     That  is  easily  accounted  for  :  a  person  of 


60         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

correct  judgment  and  accurate  discernment  will  never 
have  that  flow  of  ideas  which  one  of  a  different  char- 
acter might,  —  every  object  has  not  the  power  to  intro- 
duce into  his  mind  such  a  variety  of  ideas,  he  rejects 
all  but  those  closely  connected  with  it.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  person  of  small  discernment  will  receive  every 
idea  that  arises  in  the  mind,  making  no  distinction  be- 
tween those  nearly  related  and  those  more  distant,  they 
are  all  equally  welcome,  and  consequently  such  a  mind 
abounds  with  fanciful,  out-of-the-way  ideas.  Women 
have  more  imagination,  more  sprightliness,  because 
they  have  less  discernment.  I  never  was  of  opinion 
that  the  pursuits  of  the  sexes  ought  to  be  the  same;  on 
the  contrary,  I  believe  it  would  be  destructive  to  happi- 
ness, there  would  a  degree  of  rivalry  exist,  incompatible 
with  the  harmony  we  wish  to  establish.  I  have  ever 
thought  it  necessary  that  each  should  have  a  separate 
sphere  of  action,  —  in  such  a  case  there  could  be  no 
clashing  unless  one  or  the  other  should  leap  their  re- 
spective bounds.  Yet  to  cultivate  the  qualities  with 
which  we  are  endowed  can  never  be  called  infringing 
the  prerogatives  of  man.  Why,  my  dear  Cousin,  were 
we  furnished  with  such  powers,  unless  the  improvement 
of  them  would  conduce  to  the  happiness  of  society? 
Do  you  suppose  the  mind  of  woman  the  only  work  of 
God  that  was  "  made  in  vain."  The  cultivation  of  the 
powers  we  possess,  I  have  ever  thought  a  privilege  (or 
I  may  say  duty)  that  belonged  to  the  human  species, 
and   not   man's   exclusive  prerogative.      Far  from  de- 


A  Girl's  Lip  Eighty  Years  Ago.         61 

stroying  the  harmony  that  ought  to  subsist,  it  would  fix 
it  on  a  foundation  that  would  not  totter  at  every  jar. 
Women  would  be  under  the  same  degree  of  subordina- 
tion that  they  now  are ;  enlighten  and  expand  their 
minds,  and  they  would  perceive  the  necessity  of  such  a  I 
regulation  to  preserve  the  order  and  happiness  of  so- 
ciety. Yet  you  require  that  their  conduct  should  be 
always  guided  by  that  reason  which  you  refuse  them 
the  power  of  exercising.  I  know  it  is  generally  thought 
that  in  such  a  case  women  would  assume  the  right  of 
commanding.  But  I  see  no  foundation  for  such  a 
supposition,  —  not  a  blind  submission  to  the  will  of 
another  which  neither  honor  nor  reason  dictates.  It 
would  be  criminal  in  such  a  case  to  submit,  for  we  are 
under  a  prior  engagement  to  conduct  in  all  things  ac- 
cording to  the  dictates  of  reason.  I  had  rather  be  the 
meanest  reptile  that  creeps  the  earth,  or  cast  upon 
the  wide  world  to  suffer  all  the  ills  "  that  flesh  is  heir 
to,"  than  live  a  slave  to  the  despotic  will  of  another. 
I  am  aware  of  the  censure  that  will  ever  await  the 
female  that  attempts  the  vindication  of  her  sex,  yet  I 
dare  to  brave  that  censure  that  I  know  to  be  unde- 
served. It  does  not  follow  (O  what  a  pen  !)  that  every 
female  who  vindicates  the  capacity  of  the  sex  is  a  disci- 
ple of  Mary  Wolstoncraft.  Though  I  allow  her  to  have 
said  many  things  which  I  cannot  but  approve,  yet  the 
very  foundation  on  which  she  builds  her  work  will  be 
apt  to  prejudice  us  so  against  her  that  we  will  not  allow 
her  the  merit  she  really  deserves, — yet,  prejudice  set 


62         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

aside,  I  confess  I  admire  many  of  her  sentiments,  not- 
withstanding I  believe  should  any  one  adopt  her  prin- 
ciples, they  would  conduct  in  the  same  manner,  and 
upon  the  whole  her  life  is  the  best  comment  on  her 
writings.  Her  style  is  nervous  and  commanding,  her 
sentiments  appear  to  carry  conviction  along  with  them, 
but  they  will  not  bear  analyzing.  I  wish  to  say  some- 
thing on  your  natural  refinement,  but  I  shall  only  have 
room  to  touch  upon  it  if  I  begin,  "  therefore  I'll  leave  it 
till  another  time." 

Last  evening  Mr.  Samuel  Thatcher  spent  with  us ; 
we  had  a  fine  "dish  of  conversation"  served  up  with 
great  taste,  fine  sentiments  dressed  with  elegant  lan- 
guage and  seasoned  with  wit.  He  is  really  excellent 
company  —  a  little  enthusiastic  or  so  —  but  that  is  no 
matter.  In  compassion  I  entreat  you  to  come  over 
here  soon  and  make  me  some  pens.  I  have  got  one 
that  I  have  been  whittling  this  hour  and  at  last  have 
got  it  to  make  a  stroke  (it  liked  to  have  given  me  the 
lie).  I  believe  I  must  give  up  all  pretension  to  profun- 
dity, for  I  am  much  more  at  home  in  my  female  char- 
acter. This  argumentative  style  is  not  congenial  to 
my  taste.  I  hate  anything  that  requires  order  or  con- 
nection. I  never  could  do  anything  by  rule,  —  when  I 
get  a  subject  I  am  incapable  of  reasoning  upon,  I  play 
with  it  as  with  a  rattle,  for  what  else  should  I  do  with 
it?  But  I  have  kept  along  quite  in  a  direct  line;  I 
caught  myself  "upon  the  wing"  two  or  three  times,  but 
I  had  power  to  check  my  nonsense.     I  send  you  my 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         63 

sentiments  on  this  subject  as  they  really  exist  with  me. 
I  believe  they  are  not  the  mere  impulse  of  the  moment, 
but  founded  on  what  I  think  truth.  I  could  not  help 
laughing  at  that  part  of  your  letter  where  you  said  the 
seal  of  my  letter  deprived  you  of  some  of  the  most 
interesting  part  of  it.  I  declare  positively  I  left  a  blank 
place  on  purpose  for  it,  that  you  might  not  lose  one 
precious  word,  and  now  you  have  the  impudence  to  tell 
me  that  the  most  interesting  part  was  the  blank  paper. 
It  has  provoked  my  ire  to  such  a  degree  that  I  posi- 
tively declare  I  never  will  send  you  any  more  blank 
paper  than  I  possibly  can  avoid,  to  "  spite  you." 

To  Mr.  Moses  Porter.  E.  S. 


Portland,  July  17,  1801. 

I  almost  at  this  moment  wish  myself  in  your  situa- 
tion, meeting  old  acquaintances,  shaking  hands  with  old 
friends  and  telling  over  with  renewed  pleasure  your  Col- 
lege frolicks.  I  can  almost  see  you  convulsed  with 
laughter,  hear  you  recount  the  adventures  of  the  last 
year,  while  imagination  brings  every  boyish  frolic  to 
your  view,  unimpaired  by  time.  What  a  world  of  hu- 
mour !  what  flashes  of  wit !  what  animated  descriptions  ! 
O  these  social  meetings  !  How  they  animate  and  in- 
spire one  !  how  they  lighten  the  cares  and  multiply  the 
joys  of  life !  I  wish  you  would  write  me  about  Com- 
mencement. I  heard  yesterday  that  Sam.  Fay  of  Con- 
cord delivered  an  oration  the  4th  of  July.      I  should 


64         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

admire  to  see  it.  I  know  it  must  be  very  fine ;  in  my 
opinion  he  is  a  man  of  excellent  talents,  capable  of  writ- 
ing on  the  occasion  an  oration  that  would  reflect  great 
honor.  The  sentiments  must  be  noble  and  generous. 
He  possesses  so  much  feeling,  there  must  be  many 
glowing  passages  in  it.  If  it  is  possible  I  beg  you  will 
get  me  a  copy  and  I  will  confess  myself  very,  very 
greatly  obliged.  Last  night  I  attended  the  Theater,  — 
"  Speed  the  plough  "  was  performed,  and  I  assure  you 
very  decently  ;  the  characters  in  general  were  well  sup- 
ported. Villiers  in  Fannie  Ashfield  really  outdid  him- 
self ;  he  threw  off  the  monkey  and  became  a  good  honest 
clown,  and  did  not,  as  he  usually  does,  outstep  the 
bounds  of  nature  and  all  other  bounds.  Mrs.  Powell  as 
Miss  Blandford  delighted  us  all.  How  I  admire  that 
woman !  She  is  perfectly  at  home  on  the  stage,  and  yet 
there  is  no  levity  in  her  appearance ;  she  has  great  en- 
ergy, acts  with  spirit,  with  feeling,  yet  never  rants ;  her 
private  character  we  all  know  is  unexceptionable.  Mr. 
Donnee  as  a  young  buck  is  very  pleasing,  he  has  a  most 
melodious  voice  in  speaking,  and  has  a  very  easy,  stylish 
air,  —  good  figure,  tho'  small.  As  for  Mrs.  Harper  she  is 
my  aversion  — for,  as  Shakespeare  says,  she  will  "  tear  a 
passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags,"  and  she  is  too  indecent 
ever  to  appear  on  the  stage.  Harper  is  a  fine  fellow ;  he 
appears  best  among  the  common  herd  of  Players,  and 
has  as  much  judgment  in  supporting  his  part  as  any  one 
I  ever  saw,  and  even  in  comic  characters  I  think  he 
excels  Villiers.     He  has  much  greater  resources  within 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         65 

himself.  Villiers  gains  applause  by  distorting  his  face 
and  playing  the  monkey,  while  Harper  adheres  more 
strictly  to  nature.  In  Villiers  we  cannot  help  seeing  the 
player  thro'  the  thin  disguise,  —  Villiers,  not  the  char- 
acter he  personates,  is  continually  in  our  minds.  S. 
Powell  is  contemptible  as  a  player  (and  I  believe  as  a 
man) ;  he  puffs  and  blows  so  incessantly  that  it  is  enough 
to  put  one  into  a  fever  to  see  him  ;  he  does  not  know  in 
the  least  how  to  preserve  a  medium,  but  takes  a  certain 
pitch  and  there  remains  ;  he  cannot  gradually  bring  his 
passion  to  the  height,  but  he  thunders  it  out  without  any 
preparation,  and  the  unvarying  monotony  of  his  voice  is 
truly  disgusting.  I  am  sure,  by  his  strutting  and  bellow- 
ing, Hamlet  would  think  he  was  made  by  one  of  "Na- 
ture's journeymen."  But  it  is  time  to  have  done  with 
players,  for  you  will  think  my  head  turned  indeed  if  I 
rant  about  them  any  longer  ;  but  it  has  served  to  fill  up  a 
part  of  my  letter,  and  I  assure  you  that  alone  was  a  suf- 
ficient reason  why  I  should  give  them  a  place.  Society, 
bustle,  and  noise  frustrate  all  my  ideas.  I  cannot  write 
anywhere  but  at  home.  I  am  ashamed  that  things  of  so 
little  consequence  should  turn  my  head,  but  'tis  a  melan- 
choly truth.  O  you  malicious  fellow,  don't  talk  to  me 
about  my  favorite  topic  "female  education,"  don't  tell 
me  of  your  philosophical  indifference!  O  Moses,  you 
can't  leave  the  subject,  every  word  that  could  any  way 
dash  at  it  is  marked.  I  believe  you  do  itch  to  com- 
mence the  attack.  Well,  rail  on,  you  shall  not  say  it  is 
in  compassion  to  me  that  you  desist.  God  forbid  that 
your  greatest  enemy  should  ever  inflict  so  severe  a  pun- 


66         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

ishment  as  to  prohibit  you  from  speaking  of  your  "  fa- 
vorite topic."  I  fancy  you  have  forgotten  that  it  is  such, 
Mr.  Indifference.  Your  ironical  letter  has  had  a  wonder- 
ful effect,  but  perhaps  not  the  desired  one.  I  blush  not 
to  confess  myself  contemptibly  inferior  to  my  antagonist. 
You  ought  to  blush,  but  from  a  very  different  cause  ;  but 
I  had  forgotten  myself,  and  was  taking  the  thing  too  se- 
riously. I  am  not  slow  at  taking  the  hint,  perhaps  my 
presumption  merited  the  reproof.  I  receive  it  and  will 
endeavor  to  profit  by  it ;  and  pray,  Cousin,  how  does 
Mr.  Symmes'  coat  suit  you  ?  His  "haughty  humility," 
his  "condescending  pride."  You  have  assumed  the 
habit,  and  I  hope  will  ever  clothe  yourself  with  it  when 
you  meet  your  superior  antagonist. 

You  have  a  fine  imagination  and  have  pictured  a  chain 
of  delightful  events  which  probably  will  exist  there 
alone,  yet  I  should  have  no  objection  to  your  being  a 
true  prophet.  We  all  can  plan  delightful  schemes,  but 
they  rarely  ever  become  realities ;  but  no  matter,  we  en- 
joy them  in  imagination.  I  expect  from  you  a  particu- 
lar account  of  yourself  when  you  return.  You  will  have 
many  amusing  anecdotes  to  tell  me,  if  you  will  take  the 
trouble.  I  have  just  read  your  last  and  picture  some- 
thing in  it  that  at  first  I  did  not  pay  much  attention  to. 
You  say  all  you  have  said  on  the  subject  of  education 
was  merely  the  thought  of  the  moment,  "written  not  to 
be  received  but  laughed  at."  What  shall  I  think?  — 
That  you  think  me  too  contemptible  to  know  your  real 
sentiments  ?  I  should  be  very  unwilling  to  admit  such 
a  suspicion,  yet  what  can  you  mean  ?  —  with  the  greatest 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         67 

apparent  seriousness,  you  speak  of  the  sincerity  with 
which  you  conduct  this  correspondence.  Was  that  like- 
wise meant  to  be  laughed  at  ?  I  had  flattered  myself, 
when  I  commenced  this  correspondence,  to  reap  both 
instruction  and  amusement  from  an  undisguised  commu- 
nication of  sentiments.  I  had  likewise  hoped  you  would 
not  think  it  too  great  a  condescension  to  speak  to  me 
with  that  openness  you  would  to  a  male  friend.  How- 
ever, I  shall  begin  to  think  it  is  contrary  to  the  nature 
of  things  that  a  gentleman  should  speak  his  real  senti- 
ments to  a  lady,  yet  in  our  correspondence  I  wished  and 
expected  to  step  aside  from  the  world,  speak  to  each 
other  in  the  plain  language  of  sincerity.  I  have  much 
to  say  on  this  subject,  but  unfortunately  my  ideas  never 
begin  to  flow  until  I  have  filled  up  my  paper.  Do  not 
imagine  from  what  I  have  said  that  the  most  disagreea- 
ble truths  will  offend  me.  I  promise  not  to  feel  hurt  at 
any  thing  you  write,  if  'tis  your  real  sentiment.  But, 
Cousin,  don't  trifle  with  me.  Do  not  make  me  think  so 
contemptibly  of  myself  as  you  will  by  not  allowing  me 
your  confidence  ;  promise  to  speak  as  you  think  and  I 
will  never  scold  you  again.  Eliza. 

Cousin,  I  wish  you  would  write  a  list  of  your  mother's 
children,  names  and  ages,  those  that  have  died  together 
with  the  others.  We  are  going  to  send  them  out  to 
Uncle  Rufus,  as  he  requested  it  some  time  since.  By 
Martha  it  will  be  a  fine  opportunity,  —  as  soon  as  con- 
venient send  them  over. 

Mr.  Moses  Porter, 
Biddeford. 


68         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Scarborough,  August  6,  1801. 
Hon.  Rufus  King. 

Pardon,  my  dear  Sir,  the  liberty  I  take  in  addressing 
you,  and  let  my  motives  shield  me  from  the  imputation 
of  presumption.  Some  time  since,  you  requested  a  list 
of  my  Aunt  Porter's  and  our  family.  It  has  never  been 
sent,  and  as  we  have  now  a  very  favorable  opportunity, 
my  father  has  requested  me  to  make  it  out  and  enclose 
it  to  you.  I  tremble  while  I  write,  lest  I  should  appear 
disrespectful  in  my  manner  of  addressing  you.  Unused 
as  I  am  to  writing  to  any  one  so  much  superior  in  years, 
I  cannot  but  feel  embarrassed.  A  degree  of  confidence 
in  ourselves  is  necessary  in  every  undertaking  to  ensure 
success  ;  as  I  feel  at  this  moment  destitute  of  that  con- 
fidence, I  likewise  despair  of  succeeding  in  my  wishes, 
yet  I  entreat  you  to  attribute  whatever  may  appear  as- 
suming rather  to  an  incapacity  of  expressing  myself  as 
I  wish  than  to  a  want  of  respect.  When  I  consider  you 
as  a  public  character  esteemed  and  respected  by  your 
country,  I  would  willingly  shrink  from  observation,  lest 
my  intruding  myself  on  your  attention  should  be  thought 
impertinence.  But  when  I  think  how  nearly  I  am  allied, 
I  flatter  myself  I  shall  obtain  that  indulgence  which  I 
now  earnestly  solicit.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby,  by  whom  I 
shall  send  this,  intend  taking  the  tour  of  Europe  after 
having  taken  that  of  the  United  States.  Mrs.  Derby  is 
my  particular  friend,  and  as  she  is  intimately  acquainted 
in  our  family,  can  give  you  whatever  information  you 


Mrs.    R 
iter    a  portrait   b 


lOTYI'L.    E      QIEHbTADT, 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         69 

wish  respecting  us.  I  say  nothing  to  remind  her,  for  I 
have  too  high  an  opinion  of  your  discernment  to  suppose 
any  recommendation  necessary.  My  mother  joins  me 
in  desiring  you  would  make  our  respects  acceptable  to 
Mrs.  King,  and  all  the  family  unite  in  earnest  wishes  for 
the  complete  restoration  of  her  health.  Our  family  are 
all  in  good  health  .  .  .  My  mother  really  looks  young ! 
My  Aunt  Porter  [Pauline]  is  not  wholly  restored  to  her 
former  health,  but  is  much  better  than  she  has  been  for 
many  years  past. 

I  cannot  conclude  this  without  earnestly  intreating 
you  to  receive  it  with  the  candor  of  an  Uncle  rather 
than  the  severity  of  a  critic.  I  feel  I  do  not  write  as  I 
ought  to,  yet  I  entreat  you  not  to  think  me  deficient  in 
that  respect  and  esteem  with  which  I  shall  ever  remain 
Your  niece  Eliza  Southgate. 


Scarborough,  August  4,  1801. 

Dr.  Southgate  to  Rufus  King  in  London. 

You  will  receive  this  by  Mr.  Richard  Derby,  youngest 
son  of  the  late  H.  Derby  of  Salem.  His  lady  who  ac- 
companies him  is  the  daughter  of  Dr.  N.  Coffin  of  Port- 
land. The  Doctor's  family  and  mine  have  ever  been  on 
terms  of  intimacy  and  friendship.  Mrs.  Derby  in  par- 
ticular has  ever  been  a  favorite  of  my  daughters  Octa- 
via  and  Eliza.  They  can  give  you  all  particulars  about 
friends  at  home. 


70         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Bath,  Sunday,  Sept.  13. 

There  are  some  kinds  of  indisposition  that  instead  of 
weakening  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  serve  only  to  ren- 
der them  more  vigorous  and  sprightly,  and  in  proportion 
as  the  body  is  debilitated,  the  mind  is  strengthened.  I 
have-  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  imagination  never 
soars  to  such  lofty  heights  as  it  sometimes  does  in  sick- 
ness. But  where  am  I !  What  about  —  Well  may  you 
ask  the  question.  Believe  me,  Cousin,  I  have  attempted 
to  finish  this  letter  4  times  this  day.  I  cannot  account 
for  my  inability  to  write.  It  used  to  be  the  joy  of  my 
life,  nothing  delighted  me  so  much  as  to  steal  into  the 
chamber  by  myself  and  scribble  an  hour,  but  since  I  re- 
ceived your  last  I  have  often  attempted  to  answer  it,  but 
in  vain.  I  have  a  stubborn  brain  ;  it  must  be  coaxed, 
not  driven.  I  find  there  is  nothing  so  tedious  as  to 
write  when  we  are  not  in  the  mood  for  it.  You  may 
easily  see  that  I  am  not  in  one  at  present.  Now  for 
Heaven's  sake  see  what  I  have  written  —  find  the  chain 
that  connects.  When  I  began  I  meant  to  say  I  had 
been  quite  unwell  ever  since  I  left  Portland,  that  some 
disorders  only  served  to  give  vigor  to  the  mind,  &c, 
&c,  but  I  meant  also  to  say  mine  was  altogether  of  a 
different  nature.  But  as  I  left  that  out,  so  I  had  better 
have  done  the  other.  Oh  —  'tis  too,  too  bad  !  I'll  not 
write  another  till  I  think  I  can  understand  it  after  it  is 
written.     I  am  low-spirited,  stupid  and  everything  else. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.  71 

Wednesday. 

Now  I  shall  really  think  I  have  no  soul  if  I  find  my- 
self as  destitute  of  ideas  as  I  was  on  Sunday.  I  have 
just  been  viewing  the  most  delightful  prospect  I  have 
seen  this  long  time,  and  if  it  has  left  no  more  impression 
on  my  mind  than  objects  passing  before  a  mirror,  I  shall 
think  myself  devoid  of  every  quality  that  constitutes  us 
rational  beings.  I  think  nature  has  done  everything  to 
render  Bath  pleasant :  the  window  at  which  I  now  sit 
commands  a  most  delightful  water  prospect ;  the  river 
is  about  a  mile  in  breadth  at  this  place,  the  opposite 
banks  are  neither  sublime  nor  beautiful.  What  if  I  for  a 
moment  should  take  a  poet's  license,  and  by  the  force  of 
imagination  project  steep  and  rugged  rocks !  bid  them 
stoop  with  awful  majesty  to  reflect  their  gloomy  horrors 
in  the  wave!  See  you  not  that  enormous  precipice 
whose  awful  summit  was  ne'er  profaned  by  human  foot- 
steps ?  Does  not  your  blood  freeze  as  it  creeps  along 
your  veins  ?  Behold  again  that  barren  waste,  the  axe 
nor  the  plough  have  never  clothed  it  with  a  borrowed 
charm,  or  robbed  it  of  those  nature  bestowed  upon  it ; 
it  still  boasts  its  independence  of  the  labor  of  man. 
But  to  leave  fiction  for  reality,  the  surface  of  the  water 
is  a  perfect  mirror.  I  never  saw  it  so  perfectly  smooth ; 
at  this  moment  there  is  a  boat  passing,  rowed  by  two 
men  —  the  reflection  in  the  water  is  so  distinct,  so  very 
clear,  it  looks  like  two  boats.  I  admire  to  see  a  boat 
rowed;  it  seems  to  look  like  arms  or  wings,  moving  with 


72         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

graceful  majesty,  while  the  boat  cuts  the  liquid  bosom  of 
the  water,  leaving  as  it  recedes  a  widening  track.  There 
is  always  to  me  something  very  charming  in  the  rowing 
of  a  boat.  There  is  music  in  the  motion ;  and  what  can 
be  more  graceful  and  majestic  than  the  motion  of  a 
ship  under  sail?  Yesterday  there  was  a  brig  passed  by 
here — 'twas  within  hearing  —  very  near.  I  never  was 
more  forcibly  struck  than  at  the  moment ;  I  longed  to 
prostrate  myself  in  humble  admiration  —  as  she  ap- 
proached with  a  slow,  commanding,  celestial  air  ;  —  at 
the  moment  I  am  sure  it  gave  me  a  better  idea  of  the 
awful  grandeur  of  a  deity  than  anything  I  had  ever  seen. 
I  saw  Juno's  dignified  gracefulness  such  as  I  had  read 
of  but  could  not  conceive. 

I  have  often  in  reading  been  disagreeably  struck  by 
the  epithets  used  for  the  motions  of  the  gods.  Some- 
times they  make  them  glide  thro'  the  air,  sometimes 
approach  with  a  solemn  step,  and  many  other  words  I  do 
not  recollect ;  nor  do  I  at  present  think  of  any  words 
that  would  answer  better  —  yet  to  glide  seems  stealing 
along  —  to  move  rapidly  and  imperceptibly;  —  a  bird 
glides  thro'  the  air,  yet  there  is  nothing  celestial  in  the 
flight  of  a  bird.  It  seems  to  me  properly  applied  to 
fairies ;  something  light  and  airy  should  glide,  —  that  a 
fairy  should  glide  along  seems  right, — just  as  I  have 
an  idea  of  them.  And  then  for  a  god  to  step  —  that 
seems  too  grovelling,  too  like  us  mortals,  —  yet  that  in 
my  opinion  is  better  than  the  other. 

The  place  on  which   this  house  stands  seems  to  pro- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         73 

ject  in  a  small  degree  toward  the  water.  I  believe  there 
is  not  a  window  in  the  house  that  does  not  command  a 
view  of  the  water.  In  front  there  is  a  kind  of  cove  the 
water  makes  in  several  rods  ;  the  river  is  broad  and 
straight,  the  land  rises  gradually  from  it  a  half  mile  ;  — 
but  I  think  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  inhabitants 
have  built  under  the  hill,  or  rather  that  they  did  not 
prefer  climbing  a  little  higher;  however,  I  think  it 
must  have  a  fine  appearance  from  the  water.  Last  year 
I  recollect  sailing  along  in  front  of  the  settlement  and 
remarked  how  much  more  compact  it  looked  than  it 
really  is,  the  houses  rising  one  above  the  other  in  such 
a  manner  that  every  one  was  seen  distinctly.  I  think 
nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  a  town  built  on  a 
sloping  ground  ascending  from  so  fine  a  river  as  this 
branch  of  the  Kennebec.  All  the  navigation  belonging 
to  the  different  ports  on  this  river  above  Bath,  passes 
directly  by  here,  and  several  times  I  have  seen  12  or 
14  at  a  time.  To  one  who  has  been  brought  up  amidst 
salt  marsh  and  flats,  this  large  fine  river  affords  much 
novelty  and  amusement,  and  I  cannot  confess  but  the 
sensations  I  feel  in  viewing  it  are  more  pleasing  than 
those  produced  by  a  stagnant  water  in  a  Scarborough 
salt  pond.  I  have  almost  filled  my  sheet  without  say- 
ing a  word  of  your  letter,  indeed  I  have  forgotten  what 
was  in  it  —  at  the  time  you  gave  it  me  I  know  I  received 
it  with  much  pleasure,  as  it  robbed  me  of  some  painful 
moments.  After  Horatio's  recovery  I  sat  down  one 
evening  to  write  you,  but  I  had  only  written  the  day  of 


74         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

the  month,  when  a  most  violent  clap  of  thunder  (the 
same  that  struck  Mrs.  Horper's  house)  shook  the  pen 
from  my  hand  and  my  desk  from  my  lap.  I  do  not 
imagine  even  by  this  omen  that  I  offend  the  strictest 
laws  of  virtue  and  propriety  by  continuing  to  write  you, 
therefore  should  something  equally  powerful  wrest  the 
pen  from  my  hand,  depend  upon  it  I  will  seize  it  with 
renewed  vigor  and  dare  assure  you  of  my  esteem,  &c, 
&c.  Eliza. 

I  shall  go  to  Wiscassett  on  Monday ;  expect  to  hear 
from  me  after  I  return  to  Bath;  while  there  I  shall  have 
no  time.  I  expect  to  have  important  communications 
to  forward  —  a  certain  pair  of  sparkling  eyes,  which 
are  far  more  eloquent  than  her  tongue !  Now  I  have 
half  a  mind  to  be  affronted.  I  know  at  this  time,  as 
soon  as  you  have  read  this  you  are  tumbling  it  into 
your  pocket  as  waste  paper  to  ponder  on  the  brilliancy 
of  said  eyes.  Is  it  true  ?  Well,  I  shall  see  them  soon 
and  shall  be  tempted  to  ask  some  atonement  for  the 
damages  I  may  suffer.  Write  me  often  while  I  am 
here,  it  is  your  duty. 

Mr.  Moses  Porter,  Biddeford. 


By  Mrs.  King. 

To  Mr.  Moses  Porter  at  Biddeford. 

I  want  to  write,  yet  I  don't  want  to  write  to  you,  my 
ceremonious  Cousin,  but  at  this  time  I  can  think  of 
nobody  else  and  am  compelled  to  address  you.  My  last 
was  dated  from  Bath,  so  is  this ;  since  then  I  have  made 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         75 

a  visit  to  Wiscassett.  Oh  I  believe  — yes  I  did  write  a 
few  lines  from  there  by  Uncle  Thatcher  —  I  had  for- 
gotten that  I  wrote  any  more  than  the  letter  I  finished 
before  I  left  Bath.  I  wish  I  could  give  you  an  account 
of  my  spending  my  fortnight  at  Wiscasset,  which  would 
amuse  you  as  much  as  the  reality  did  me,  but  that  is 
impossible.  I  have  seen  so  many  new  faces  —  (I  was 
going  to  say  new  characters,  but  they  were  generally 
such  as  we  see  every  day),  so  many  handsome  ladies, 
so  many  fine  men,  indeed  I  have  seen  a  little  of  every- 
thing. Mr.  Wild  and  Mr.  Davis  (of  Portland)  kept  at 
Mrs.  Lee's.  Mr.  Wild  is  a  most  charming  man,  and 
sensible  and  genteel,  apparently  has  one  of  the  mildest 
and  most  amiable  dispositions  in  the  world.     Mr.  Davis 

you  know.     There  was  a  Miss  P spent  2  or  3  days 

at  Mrs.  Lee's.  She  was  —  was  —  I  can't  tell  you  what ; 
you  may  have  heard  of  her,  celebrated  for  her  wit,  lost 
a  lover  by  exercising  it  rather  too  severely ;  poor  soul ! 
it  was  a  sad  affair ;  she  has  at  length  become  sensible 
of  the  impropriety  of  her  conduct,  and  now  hopes  to 
atone  for  it  by  flattering  every  gentleman  she  sees  — 
time  will  show  whether  this  plan  will  succeed.  She 
talks  incessantly,  laughs  always  at  what  she  says  her- 
self.    At  table,  when  the  judges,  lawyers,  and  a  dozen 

gentlemen  and  ladies  were  seated,  Miss  P engrossed 

all  the  conversation.  I  defy  any  person  to  be  in  the 
room  with  her  and  not  be  compelled  to  converse  with 
her,  not  by  the  irresistible  force  of  her  charms,  they 
are  rather  in  the  wane.     Tf  you  look  at  her  she  asks 


76         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

what  you  were  going  to  say —  "  I  know  you  were  going 
to  speak  by  your  looks."  Of  course  my  gentleman 
walks  up,  how  can  he  help  it  ?  In  this  manner  she 
draws  a  whole  swarm  around  her  ;  the  poor  souls  rattle 
out  their  outrageous  compliments,  trembling  with  fear,, 
for  the  moment  their  ardor  to  please  appears  to  abate, 
she  rouses  them  to  a  sense  of  their  duty  by  a  lash  of 
her  tongue. 

Sunday.  —  Now  I  can't  bear  to  be  hurried,  and  I  must 
submit  to  be  or  not  send  this  by  Mamma  King.  Last 
night  when  I  began  this,  I  felt  quite  disposed  to  throw 
away  an  hour  (for  my  letters  to  you  are  thrown  away  as 
you  won't  take  the  trouble  to  answer  them)  without  con- 
sulting anything  but  my  feelings.  I  began,  and  soon 
found,  to  my  mortification,  that  I  ought  to  have  con- 
sulted my  candle,  for  as  if  piqued  at  my  neglect,  it  took 
French  leave  to  doze.     I  broke  off  my  description   of 

Miss  P in  the  most  striking  part.     I  do  not  resume 

the  subject,  'twould  be  a  profanation  of  this  day  to 
scandalize  a  frail  sister ;  my  mind  is  full  of  charity  and 
Christian  love.  I  hope  I  shall  not  stumble  against  some 
unlucky  thought  that  may  derange  its  present  peaceful 
state.  Now,  Cousin,  don't  you  think  it  unpardonable, 
don't  you  think  it  a  violation  of  all  the  laws  of  polite- 
ness, that  you  should  neglect  writing  me  merely  be- 
cause I  owed  a  letter?  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you 
counted  the  words  in  yours  and  my  letters  and  settled 
the  account  by  some  rule  in  Arithmetic.  But  let  me 
entreat  you  not  to  estimate  mine  by  the  weight,  but  the 


A  Girl's  Lip  Eighty  Years  Ago.         77 

number ;  in  that  case  I  am  equal  to  anybody ;  but  if, 
unhappily  for  me,  you  should  weigh  them  with  critical 
exactness,  'twill  take  many  of  them  to  repay  you  for' 
one  of  yours.  I  feel  assured  you  must  have  adopted 
this  method,  and  sincerely  ask  your  pardon  for  doubting 
a  moment  that  this  was  the  true  cause.  What  pre- 
vented your  coming  to  Wiscassett  ?  I  tho't  you  had 
determined  upon  it.  Rebecca  and  I  used  to  expect  you 
every  day ;  believe  me  I  was  asked  a  dozen  times  if  you 
were  not  absolutely  engaged  to  Miss  Rice.  How  such 
things  will  get  about.  I  told  every  body  that  asked  me 
that  I  was  your  confidant,  of  course  must  keep  your 
attachment  a  secret,  for  which  I  am  prepared  to  receive 
your  thanks. 

Mr.  Kinsman  has  been  down  to  Wiscassett.  He 
attended  the  courts,  as  he  says,  to  acquire  a  better 
knowledge  of  the  law ;  but  I  should  imagine  he  mis- 
took the  ladies  for  the  law,  as  he  makes  them  his  con- 
stant study.  But  I  leave  so  dangerous  a  subject,  lest 
my  feelings  should  deprive  me  of  the  power  to  fin- 
ish this  sheet.  I  shall  probably  return  home  the  be- 
ginning of  next  month.  If  I  have  a  letter  due  from 
you,  according  to  your  new  arrangement,  I  beg  you  to 
forward  it  as  soon  as  possible ;  however,  I  have  not  the 
vanity  to  suppose  there  is  more  than  a  dozen  lines  as 
yet ;  perhaps  when  I  have  written  half  a  dozen  more 
letters  I  may  be  richly  rewarded  with  one  from  you. 
Where  is  Maria  ?  How  does  she  do  ?  Rebecca  wrote 
her  while  I  was  in  Wiscassett,  and  told  her  undoubtedly 


?S         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

she  is  expected  to  spend  the   winter   there.      I   must 
finish  :  Uncle  calls.  Eliza. 


I  believe  it  is  about  the  ioth  day  of  October.        E. 

Ellen  Coffin  is  going  to  be  married  to  a  widower  and 
3  children,  think  of  that,  sir ! ! !  I  had  a  letter  from  her 
last  week.  She  is  not  coming  home  till  she  leaves 
Portland  as  Mrs.  Derby. 

Topsham,  Oct.  29,  1801. 

Why,  you  unaccountable  wretch !  you  obstinate  fel- 
low !  you  malicious,  you  vain,  you  —  Oh,  I  am  run  out, 
I  will  e'en  call  in  the  assistance  of  Sir  John  Fallstaff 
to  help  me  exclaim  against  you  —  provoking  creature  ! 
With  one  scratch  of  your  pen  to  banish  such  delightful 
thoughts !  I  was  applauding  myself  for  my  condescen- 
sion in  writing  so  often  without  answers.  I  exulted 
in  the  thought  of  your  shame  and  confusion  at  the 
proofs  of  my  superiority,  —  so  much  above  the  little 
forms  that  narrowed  your  own  heart.  How  did  I  see 
you  hanging  your  head  with  penitence  and  sorrow, 
while  your  face  glowed  with  conscious  shame !  Oh, 
'twas  delicious !  Every  day  I  reflected  on  it  with  re- 
newed pleasure.  I  felt  assured  nothing  prevented  your 
writing  but  an  aversion  to  acknowledging  how  humble, 
how  little  you  felt,  —  yet  the  letter  at  length  arrived, 
my  heart  trembled  with  delight,  a  glow  of  triumph 
flushed  my  face.  I  saw  the  humiliation  so  grateful  to 
my  vanity,  (I  was  at  the  Lieu  table)  —  I  hurried  the 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         79 

letter  into  my  pocket,  I  had  no  wish  to  read  it  —  I  knew 
(I  tho't  I  did)  what  it  must  contain.  I  could  scarcely 
breathe ;  vanity,  exultation,  revenge  (sweet  sensation) 
gave  me  unusual  spirits.  I  stood  and  called  5  —  I  was 
sure  of  a  Palm-flush  !  'twas  impossible  anything  could 
go  wrong,  —  'twas  a  frail  hope  —  I  got  nothing,  was 
lieued  ;  never  mind  it,  thought  I,  the  letter  is  enough.  I 
played  wrong,  discarded  the  wrong  card,  knocked  over 
the  candlestick,  spilt  my  wine ;  positively,  if  it  had  been 
a  love-letter,  a  first  declaration,  it  would  not  put  me  in 
a  worse  flustration  ;  but  ah  !  't  was  so  different,  —  I  did 
not  blush,  look  down,  tremble,  fear  to  raise  my  eyes ; 
my  heart  did  not  dissolve  away  in  melting  tenderness  — 
hey-day  !  I  had  no  notion  of  telling  you  what  I  did  not 
do  —  but  what  I  did.  Well  then  —  I  sat  so  upright,  I 
was  a  foot  taller,  I  looked  at  every  body  for  applause.  I 
wondered  I  did  not  hear  them  exclaim  :  Oh,  generous, 
excellent  girl !  I  demanded  it  with  my  eyes  —  'twas 
all  in  vain,  I  heard  nothing  but  —  "  Eliza,  you  must  fol- 
low suit.  Why  do  you  play  that  card  ?  You  will  cer- 
tainly be  lieued  !  "  I  was  vexed ;  I  thought  of  the  letter, 
all  was  sunshine  again.  I  am  called  —  dinner;  oh,  this 
eating  seems  to  clog  all  my  faculties,  I  never  write  with 
half  so  much  ease  as  when  I'm  half  starved.  I  believe 
it  is  true  that  poets  ought  not  to  live  well. 

But  begging  your  pardon  for  leaving  you  so  in  the 
lurch,  I  had  forgotten  that  the  letter  was  as  yet  un- 
opened in  my  pocket.  Well  then,  we  did  not  break  up 
till  late ;  after  I  retired  to  bed  out  came  the  letter.     I 


80         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

was  sleepy  and  had  a  great  mind  not  to  open  it  till 
morning  ;  however  I  thought  I  would,  to  have  the  satis- 
faction of  the  confirmation  of  my  hopes,  not  once  think- 
ing of  the  stroke  that  should  annihilate  them.  It  came. 
How  shall  I  tell  you  my  consternation  !  — "description 
falters  at  the  threshold ; "  yet  I  did  not  rave,  I  did  not 
tear  my  hair  with  a  frenzy  of  passion.  I  did  not  stand 
in  mute  despair, — no;  I  collected  all  my  dignity  and 
stood  fixed  and  immovable.  I  was  convinced  'twas  ob- 
stinacy alone,  'twas  envy,  'twas  a  something  that  pre- 
vented you  from  giving  me  what  you  knew  I  deserved. 
I  am  called  again. 

Portland,  Nov.  10,  1801. 

I  had  almost  determined  to  light  the  fire  with  this 
scrawl  !  —  but  upon  second  thoughts  I  withdrew  my 
hand  from  the  devouring  flames  and  saved  it  from 
the  fate  it  so  justly  merits.  Yet  we  have  such  a  par- 
tiality for  our  own  offspring  we  rarely  ever  treat  them 
with  the  severity  they  deserve.  But  I  ought  to  tell  you 
where  I  am,  —  but  this  letter  has  nothing  like  method 
in  it  —  but  never  mind  —  I  began  it  immediately  after  I 
received  your  last.  I  wrote  while  the  first  impressions 
it  made  were  on  me  ;  unluckily  I  was  called  from  the 
pleasing  task  while  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  as  I  never 
feel  the  same  two  hours  together,  I  was  unable  to  con- 
tinue as  I  began :  'twould  have  been  cold  and  studied  ; 
so  I  left  it.  I  threw  it  into  my  trunk,  determining  not  to 
have  anything  more  to  do  with  it.     I  had  grown  amaz- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         81 

ingly  wise ;  I  wondered  how  I  could  suffer  myself  to 
write  such  nonsense.  To-day  I  have  received  an  in- 
vitation to  the  second  wedding  of  Capt.  Stephenson. 
I  shall  go.  I  thought  I  would  write  you  a  line  to  let 
you  know  I  was  still  in  existence  and  on  my  way  home. 
I  could  not  find  any  paper  and  was  compelled  to  tumble 
over  my  trunk  to  find  this.  I  have  a  world  of  news  to 
tell  you,  but  I  don't  know  that  you  would  care  a  far- 
thing about  any  of  it.  Mary  has  been  at  Boston.  Capt. 
Stephenson  told  me  all  about  it.  Tell  her  I  hear  she 
has  a  heap  of  fine  things,  at  which,  together  with  her 
ladyship,  I  hope  to  have  a  peep.  I  have  something  of 
vast  importance  to  say  to  her  likewise,  a  thing  on  which 
depends  the  life  and  happiness  of  a  fellow-creature. 
"  Oh,  Mary  !  who  would  have  thought  cruelty  one  of 
the  failings  of  your  heart."  But  I  shall  out  with  this 
secret  to  you  before  I  am  aware  of  it.  Now  I  have  a 
great  mind  to  turn  this  into  a  letter  to  Mary.  I  have 
as  much  again  to  say  to  her  as  I  have  to  you,  but  she 
would  not  know  what  to  make  of  some  of  it.  I  expect 
to  be  at  home  on  Saturday  next ;  bring  Mary  on  Sun- 
day, —  mind,  and  don't  disobey.  Horatio  will  be  with 
me.  I  am  in  a  monstrous  hurry.  I  must  send  more 
blank  paper  than  I  ever  did  before,  for  which  you  will 
thank  me,  as  I  think  you  once  told  me  that  the  blank 
paper  in  my  letters  always  afforded  you  the  most  pleas- 
ure, —  not  exactly  so  —  but  something  like  it.     Adieu. 

Eliza. 

Mr.  Moses  Porter. 


82         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Scarborough,  Dec.  4th,  1801. 

"I  give  you  thanks,"  as  Parson  Fletcher  says,  for 
your  dissertation  upon  apologies  and  old  sayings.  You 
have  stored  up  enough  to  fill  a  volume,  if  I  should  take 
your  last  as  a  specimen  of  the  quantity.  However,  they 
are  things  I  trouble  myself  but  little  about,  and  I 
should  rather  be  inclined  to  join  in  railing  against 
them  than  in  enumerating  their  good  effects.  I  per- 
ceive that  you  were  much  more  inclined  to  be  their 
advocate  after  supper  than  you  were  before.  You  had 
just  laid  down  your  pen  after  venting  all  your  spleen 
and  ill-nature  (occasioned  by  your  impatience  for  roast- 
beef)  upon  these  poor  harmless  old  sayings.  You  re- 
turn, with  an  entire  new  set  of  sentiments  on  the  sub- 
ject. You  commence  their  advocate  with  more  vehe- 
mence than  is  usual  with  you,  and  conclude  by  making 
them  the  very  foundation  of  every  virtue.  Now  I  have 
endeavored  to  find  some  natural  cause  for  this  sudden 
change,  but  cannot.  Was  it  that  you  heard  one  trickle 
from  the  lips  of  some  favorite  fair  with  eloquence  too 
powerful  to  be  resisted  ?  Or  was  it  a  bumper  of  wine 
which  proved  so  warm  a  friend  to  them  ?  Or  was  it  the 
good-natured  effects  of  the  roast-beef,  which  exhilarat- 
ing your  spirits,  made  you  look  with  an  eye  of  pity  and 
compassion  on  these  poor  neglected  things,  and  en- 
deavor by  rubbing  off  the  rust  and  polishing  them 
anew,  to  compensate  for  your  malicious  endeavors  to 
lessen  their  merit?     But  after  all  I  must  confess  my- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         83 

self  a  great  enemy  to  them,  in  conversation  particu- 
larly. I  never  knew  a  person  who  made  frequent  use 
of  them,  but  I  pitied  them  for  the  scanty  portion  of 
ideas  which  must  have  driven  them  to  such  a  paltry 
theft ;  and  moreover,  if  I  must  steal  the  idea,  I  would 
clothe  it  myself,  lest  its  garment  should  betray  me.  I 
dislike  them  because  they  are  in  every  body's  mouth, 
the  greatest  fool  on  earth  has  sense  enough  to  use 
them  with  as  much  propriety  as  any  other,  and  you  will 
find  every  old  beggar  has  his  wallet  stuffed  full  of  them, 
ready  to  launch  out  on  every  occasion.  I  don't  know, 
however,  but  you  are  perfectly  right  in  what  you  say  in 
their  defence.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  what  you  say 
is  just,  but  I  have  so  often  seen  instances  of  their 
meaning  being  perverted  to  answer  some  vicious  pur- 
pose that  I  am  compelled  to  believe  the  balance  is 
against  them.  "  So  much  for  old  sayings." — But  now 
as  to  apologies,  I  must  with  due  reverence  beg  leave  to 
differ  from  you  in  my  opinion  of  them.  I  am  by  no 
means  inclined  to  think  they  are  never  used  but  when 
we  know  ourselves  in  fault,  and  that  we  ought  always 
to  suspect  the  sincerity  of  any  one  who  makes  them. 
You  certainly  must  have  known  instances  when  they 
were  essentially  necessary,  and  not  to  have  made  them 
would  have  proved  an  obstinacy  of  disposition  quite  as 
disagreeable  as  insincerity.  I  hate  this  parade  and  non- 
sense about  independence y  which  every  gentleman  of  ton 
puts  on  ;  it  always  proves  that  the  reality  is  small,  when 
such  a  fuss  is  made  for  the  appearance.     I  know  some 


84         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

gentlemen  who  boast  of  never  having  made  an  apology, 
yet  at  the  same  time  would  say  and  do  a  thousand 
things  much  more  derogatory  to  their  dear  indepen- 
dence than  fifty  apologies,  such  as  any  man  of  sense 
might  make.  I  should  be  glad  to  see  our  fine  gentle- 
men more  careful  in  avoiding  anything  that  would  re- 
quire an  apology,  and  not  like  cowards  skulk  behind 
their  flimsy  shield  of  independence  for  defence  or  se- 
curity. I  have  as  great  an  aversion  to  cringing  apolo- 
gies, made  on  every  occasion,  as  you  possibly  can  have, 
and  should  always  suspect  the  sincerity  of  them.  —  If 
this  class  are  the  greater  part  of  them,  —  still  I  can 
conceive,  nay  I  have  known  instances  when  an  apology 
has  heightened  my  opinion  of  a  person  instead  of  les- 
sening it.  If  we  are  in  fault,  ought  we  not  to  confess 
it  ?  If  we  are  not  in  fault,  ought  we  not  to  exculpate 
ourselves  ?  I  should  think  a  person  valued  my  appro- 
bation very  little,  if  he  knew  I  had  any  reason  to  cen- 
sure him  and  yet  would  not  by  a  single  word  convince 
me  I  had  been  deceived.  However,  I  did  not  mean  to 
dip  so  far  into  this  weighty  subject,  'twould  have  been 
better  to  have  just  touched  the  edges  and  away.  Now 
really,  Moses,  I  write  in  pain  if  I  am  not  good-natured  ; 
you  must  attribute  it  all  to  the  cold  which  makes  my 
fingers  tingle ;  I  can't  write  below,  there  is  such  a  gab- 
bling. Tis  a  cold,  comfortless  night ;  the  rain  patters 
against  the  window  and  the  wind  whistles  round  the 
house,  it  sounds  like  December,  —  oh  !  that  was  an 
unlucky  word !    I  feel  gloomy  at  the  sight  of  it.     The 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         85 

storm  has  driven  all  my  thoughts  back  to  myself  for 
shelter.  I  am  at  this  moment  so  selfish  and  cross  that 
I  would  not  walk  ten  steps  to  do  good  to  any  one.  Our 
old  windows  here  clatter  so  that  I  can  hear  nothing 
else.  I  shall  begin  to  think  the  candle  burns  blue,  and 
that  I  hear  the  groans  of  distress  between  the  blasts 
of  wind,  which  sound  hollow  and  dreary  ;  even  now  the 
shadow  of  my  pen  on  the  wall  looked  like  a  man's  arm, 
and  as  true  as  I  live,  here  is  a  winding-sheet  in  the 
candle.  Oh  these  hobgoblin  stories  !  we  never  get  rid 
of  them.  I  sometimes,  when  sitting  alone,  after  all  are 
asleep  in  the  house,  get  my  imagination  so  roused,  that. 
I  look  in  fearful  expectation  that  the  tall  martial  ghost 
of  Hamlet  will  stalk  before  my  eyes,  or  that  some  less 
dignified  one  will  step  through  the  keyhole,  or  pop 
down  chimney.  —  Ghosts,  what  a  looking  word  that  is  ! ! 
—  nonsense! — what  was  I  going  to  say,  something 
about  ghosts  and  all  not  warming  my  fingers.  I  declare 
this  shall  be  the  last  letter  I  will  write  from  the  fire,  — 
December,  and  writing  in  the  chamber  without  fire. 
Oh  —  monstrous  !  But  here  am  I  at  the  end  without 
saying  several  things  I  meant  to.  I  never,  when  I  sit 
down  to  write,  say  any  thing  I  wished  or  intended  to 
when  I  began.  You  found  my  letter,  you  say  —  'twas 
not  worth  the  finding,  as  it  was  too  late  to  answer  the 
purpose  I  wish.  Write  me  often.  I  have  been  enter- 
tained with  Johnson's  life.  We  are  alone,  so  write  me 
often.  E.  S. 


86         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

A  man  of  your  gallantry,  cousin,  surely  might  make 
a  small  exertion  to  confer  an  obligation  on  two  of  the 
fair.  Octavia  and  myself  are  very  anxious  that  Miss 
Tappan  should  make  us  a  visit.  My  father  will  bring 
Miranda  home ;  but  our  chaise  is  broken  so  much  that 
'tis  impossible  to  use  it  in  its  present  state ;  none  to  be 
hired  or  borrowed.  Why  can't  you  take  a  chaise  and 
bring  over  Pauline  and  Betsey  Tappan  ?  Besides  grati- 
fying me  with  their  company,  I  would  be  very  glad  to 
see  you  —  no  coaxing  Eliza !  But  I  am  in  earnest ; 
come  and  see.  Do  come  and  bring  them  if  possible.  I 
will  show  you  some  of  Martha's  letters  from  London, 
Bath.  I  will  tell  you  everything  I  can  think  of  and  per- 
haps invent  something  if  all  this  won't  do.  Lord  bless 
me  !  I  should  not  have  to  urge  every  one  so  hard  to 
come  and  see  me.  I  am  sure  I  should  be  discouraged  ; 
but  seriously,  I  wish  you  to  come  very  much,  but  if  you 
think  it  impossible,  or  rather  very  bad  —  don't  mind 
what  I  say ;  however,  I  expect  you.  Eliza. 

To  Mr.  Moses  Porter. 

Portland,  Jan.  24,  1802. 

Now  at  this  moment  imagine  your  friend  Eliza  half- 
double  with  the  cold,  two  children  teazing  and  playing 
round  the  table,  sister  and  nurse  talking  all  the  time, 
and  you  will  then  be  prepared  to  receive  a  letter  abound- 
ing with  sound  reasoning,  profound  argument,  elegant 
language,  and  a  profusion  of  sublime  ideas ;  but  do  not 
stare  if  I  intersperse,  by  way  of  relieving  your  mind,  a 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         87 

few  little  Jackey  Horner  stories  which  I  am  obliged  to 
gabble  out  by  wholesale  to  stop  the  children's  mouths. 
If  I  had  not  had  a  most  retentive  memory,  I  should  have 
forgotten  we  were  correspondents.  I  can  put  up  with 
such  a  tardy,  indifferent,  reluctant  correspondent  when 
I  myself  set  the  example  —  but  we  ladies  are  so  accus- 
tomed to  attention  from  gentlemen  that  I  can  hardly 
bring  myself  to  put  up  with  your  neglect.  I  have  a 
thousand  times  determined  to  wait  just  as  long  before  I 
answer  your  letters  as  you  do  before  mine  are  noticed, 
and  you  have  nothing  to  prevent  —  but,  pshaw  !  I  am 
only  spending  time  to  give  you  something  to  laugh  at.  I 
must  honestly  acknowledge,  however,  that  your  last  let- 
ter was  very  acceptable,  though  I  was  piqued  at  your  neg- 
lecting me  so  long.  I  wish  I  felt  adequate  to  giving 
an  opinion  on  your  perfect  character,  but  as  I  have  told 
you  before,  I  cannot  think  when  all  is  noise  and  confu- 
sion around  me.  But  I  have  endeavored  in  vain  to  find 
fault  with  it.  I  am  really  sorry  that  your  sentiments  so 
perfectly  coincide  with  my  own,  for  you  have  said  all  I 
think  on  the  subject  and  much  more  than  I  could  have 
expressed,  therefore  I  am  compelled  to  assent  to  all  you 
have  said.  I  am  very  glad  we  do  not  agree  on  every 
subject,  for  our  letters  would  (mine  I  mean)  be  very  un- 
entertaining,  indeed  they  have  no  merit  to  part  with.  I 
do  not  mean  to  send  your  perfect  character  away  with- 
out a  more  intimate  acquaintance.  When  I  feel  in  a 
proper  mood  for  it  I  will  take  it  up  and  examine  every 
quality  separately.     I  have  the  outlines  impressed  on 


SS        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

my  mind,  but  I  cannot  refer  to  your  letter  for  'tis  up  in 
my  trunk  and  I  feel  no  disposition  to  leave  the  fire  ;  with 
your  permission  I  will  lay  it  by  till  another  time.  In 
the  meantime  let  us  descend  from  these  important  dis- 
cussions to  the  trifling  occurrences  of  the  day.  With 
great  satisfaction  we  at  length  behold  the  ground  cov- 
ered with  snow,  for  we  are  almost  freezing  here  ;  it  has 
been  impossible  almost  to  obtain  wood  to  keep  us  warm, 
and  I  declare  I  have  thought  a  log-house  and  clay  chim- 
ney — The  bell  rings  —  I  must  stop  !  — 


Monday,  Feb.  I,  1802,  Portland. 

The  sudden  ringing  of  the  bell  last  Monday  stopt 
me  in  the  midst  of  a  very  homely  catalogue  of  blessings 
—  'tis  not  worth  finishing,  and  if  it  was  I  could  not  take 
up  a  broken  sentence  and  finish  it  a  week  after  it  was 
begun.  I  have  in  vain  attempted  to  finish  this  sheet, 
but  I  find  I  am  entirely  unfit  to  write.  I  hold  my  pen 
firm  in  my  hand,  look  this  side  and  that  side,  yet  still 
cannot  think.  Scarborough  —  desolate,  dreary  Scar- 
borough is  the  only  place  from  whence  I  can  write  with 
ease, — nothing  present  engages  my  attentions,  and  I 
then  have  leisure  to  turn  over  the  rubbish  which  I  have 
collected  from  home  —  ponder  on  things  past  and  antici- 
pate those  to  come  :  'tis  something  like  dreaming,  —  we 
are  insensible  to  everything  around  us,  —  the  imagina- 
tion is  unchecked  by  the  operation  of  our  senses,  and 


A  Girl's  Lip  Eighty  Years  Ago.         89 

soars  beyond  the  boundaries  of  reality.  Pray  read  over 
this  last  half-page  and  see  if  you  cannot  tell  how  I  feel, 
look,  and  act  at  this  moment.  If  your  penetration  does 
not  discover  a  something  unlike  my  letters  in  general, — 
cold  and  studied  —  I  will  not  —  I  cannot  write,  another 
post  must  pass  and  no  letter,  yet  'tis  labor,  'tis  pain  to 
write  thus. 


Sunday,  Feb.  8. 

To  see  the  dates  of  this  sheet  one  would  immediately 
conclude  that  my  ideas  flowed  periodically  and  that  I 
had  stated  periods  to  "unpack  the  heart,"  but  'tis  be- 
cause I  cannot  take  my  pen  and  write  at  the  moment  I 
feel  an  inclination,  — not  to  defer  it  till  a  more  conven- 
ient time  when  I  most  probably  should  feel  indifferent 
about  it.  Now  I  am  aware  what  you  are  about  to  infer 
from  such  a  dull  studied  letter  as  this  is,  — The  "  seven 
days  twice  run  "  has  put  something  into  your  head  that 
ought  not  to  be  there,  and  you  are  laughing  in  your 
sleeve  at  the  discovery.  Now,  I  am  not  after  the  man- 
ner of  our  sex  going  to  protest  it  is  false  —  that  there  is 
no  foundation  for  such  a  report,  and  counterfeit  anger 
that  I  don't  feel,  for  these  things  always  are  viewed  as 
a  modest  confirmation  of  the  truth,  and  frequently  are 
considered  the  greatest  proof  that  can  be  brought.  It 
is  folly  to  give  importance  to  such  stories  by  appearing 
to  feel  interested,  and  the  only  way  to  destroy  them  is  to 
hear  and  let  them  pass  with  perfect  indifference  ;  time 


go        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

will  certainly  show  what  is  true  and  what  is  not,  and  the 
only  method  is  to  let  them  take  their  course,  they  will 
sink  to  oblivion  if  not  fed  by  our  own  folly.  I  own  'tis 
unpleasant  to  hear  such  things,  but  every  girl  must  pre- 
pare herself  for  such  vexations.  It  has  one  good  effect 
—  that  of  making  us  more  circumspect  in  our  conduct. 
I  do  not  say  I  am  not  in  love ;  if  your  penetration  has 
not  discovered  that  I  am,  neither  will  what  I  say  con- 
vince you.  How  such  a  report  came  to  you  I  do  not 
know.  I  had  hoped  it  would  wither  and  die  in  the  hot- 
bed of  scandal  from  whence  it  sprang.  If  you  lived 
here  you  would  not  be  surprised  at  any  thing  of  the 
kind.  I  declare  to  you  I  don't  know  the  girl  in  town  of 
whom  the  same  is  not  said.  The  prevailing  propensity 
this  winter  is  match-making,  and  at  the  assemblies  there 
is  no  other  conversation,  ■ —  such  and  such  a  one  will 
make  a  match  because  they  dance  together,  —  another 
one  is  positively  engaged  because  she  does  not  dance 
with  him.  If  a  lady  does  not  attend  the  assembly  con- 
stantly —  'tis  because  her  favorite  swain  is  not  a  mem- 
ber,—  if  she  does  —  'tis  to  meet  him  there:  if  she  is 
silent,  she  is  certainly  in  love  ;  if  she  is  gay  and  talks 
much,  there  must  be  a  lover  in  the  way.  If  a  gentleman 
looks  at  you  at  meeting  you  are  suspected,  if  he  dances 
with  you  at  the  assembly  it  must  be  true,  and  if  he  rides 
with  you — 'tis  "confirmation  strong  as  proof  of  holy 
writ."  I  am  vext  to  have  spent  so  much  time  on  this 
subject,  but  I  care  nothing  about  it.  'Tis  well  I  have 
found  something  to  fill  my  sheet,  and  had  it  not  been  for 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         91 

that  lucky  seven  days  twice  over,  I  should  not  have  fin- 
ished it  this  month,  and  finishing  now  has  been  a  week's 
work.  Eliza. 

To  Mr.  Moses  Porter. 


Sunday,  Feb'y  14. 

Only  think,  Moses,  I  was  from  home  when  you  passed 
thro'  town !  I  did  not  expect  you  so  soon,  altho'  you 
said  you  should  return  on  Friday.  I  thought  some- 
thing might  detain  you  in  Wiscassett  longer  than  you 
expected ;  but  you  are  one  of  those  odd  fellows  which 
nothing  can  turn  aside,  no,  not  even  the  most  sr.  arkling 
pair  of  black  eyes  in  the  world  could  detain  you  a  mo- 
ment longer  than  you  first  intended,  — what  a  philoso- 
pher in  this  age  of  gallantry  to  remain  untainted  !  It 
will  come  at  last,  Moses.  Belamy  says  there  is  as 
much  a  time  for  love  as  for  death,  and  every  one  as 
surely  one  time  or  other  will  feel  it.  I  expect  to  see 
you  throw  off  the  Philosopher  and  assume  the  man ;  one 
more  trial  and  I  will  pronounce  you  invulnerable.    .  For 

Miss  T ,  this  one  is  reserved.     I  long  to  see  how 

you  will  look  when  (to  use  a  religious  phrase)  you  are 
struck  down.  Pray  write  me  as  soon  as  you  receive 
this  and  tell  me  about  your  journey ;  don't  wait  as  long 
as  you  commonly  do. 

Adieu.  Eliza. 


92        A  Girl s  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Portland,  March  i,  1802. 

Such  a  frolic !  Such  a  chain  of  adventures  I  never 
before  met  w'tth,  nay,  the  page  of  romance  never  pre- 
sented its  ecu  lal.  'lis  now  Monday,  —  but  a  little  more 
method,  that  I  may  be  understood.  I  have  just  ended 
my  Assembly's  adventure,  never  got  home  till  this 
morning.  Thursday  it  snowed  violently,  indeed  for  two 
days  before  it  had  been  storming  so  much  that  the 
snow  drifts  were  very  large;  however,  as  it  was  the  last 
Assembly  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  going,  as 
I  knew  all  the  world  would  be  there.  About  7  I  went 
down-stairs  and  found  young  Charles  Coffin,  the  min- 
ister, in  the  parlor.  After  the  usual  enquiries  were 
over  he  stared  awhile  al  my  feathers  and  flowers,  asked 
if  I  was  going  out, —  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  the 
Assembly.  "Think,  Miss  Southgatc,"  said  he,  after  a 
long  pause,  "think  you  would  go  out  to  meeting  in  such 
a  storm  as  this  ? "  Then  assuming  a  tone  of  reproof,  he 
entreated  me  to  examine  well  my  feelings  on  such  an 
occasion.  I  heard  in  silence,  unwilling  to  begin  an 
argument  that  I  was  unable  to  support.  The  stopping 
of  the  carriage  roused  me  ;  I  immediately  slipl  on  my 
socks  and  coat,  and  met  Horatio  and  Mr.  Motley  in  the 
entry.  The  snow  was  deep,  but  Mr.  Motley  took  me 
up  in  his  arms  and  sat  me  in  the  carriage  without  diffi- 
culty. I  found  a  full  assembly,  many  married  ladies, 
and  every  one  disposed  to  end  the  winter  in  good 
spirits.     At  one  we  left  dancing  and  went  to  the  card- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         93 

room  to  wait  for  a  coach.  It  stormed  dreadfully.  The 
hacks  were  all  employed  as  soon  as  they  returned,  and 
we  could  not  get  one  till  3  o'clock,  for  about  two  they 
left  the  house,  determined  not  to  return  again  for  the 
night.  It  was  the  most  violent  storm  I  ever  knew. 
There  were  now  20  in  waiting,  the  gentlemen  scolding 
and  fretting,  the  ladies  murmuring  and  complaining. 
One  hack  returned ;  all  flocked  to  the  stairs  to  engage 
a  seat.  So  many  crowded  down  that  'twas  impossible 
to  get  past;  luckily  I  was  one  of  the  first.  I  stcpt  in, 
found  a  young  lady,  almost  a  stranger  in  town,  who 
keeps  at  Mrs.  Jordan's,  sitting  in  the  back-scat.  She 
immediately  caught  hold  of  me  and  beg'd  if  I  possibly 
could  accommodate  her  to  take  her  home  with  me,  as 
she  had  attempted  to  go  to  Mrs.  Jordan's,  but  the  drifts 
were  so  high,  the  horses  could  not  get  through  ;  that 
they  were  compelled  to  return  to  the  hall,  where  she 
had  not  a  single  acquaintance  with  whom  she  could  go 
home.  I  was  distres't,  for  I  could  not  ask  her  home 
with  me,  for  sister  had  so  much  company  that  I  was 
obliged  to  go  home  with  Sally  Weeks  and  give  my 
chamber  to  Parson  Coffin.  I  told  her  this,  and  likewise 
that  she  should  be  provided  for  if  my  endeavors  could 
be  of  any  service.  None  but  ladies  were  permitted  to 
get  into  the  carriage  ;  it  presently  was  stowed  in  so  full 
that  the  horses  could  not  move  ;  the  door  was  burst 
open,  for  such  a  clamor  as  the  closing  of  it  occasioned 
I  never  before  heard.  The  universal  cry  was  —  "a 
gentleman  in  the  coach,  let  him  come  out !  "     We  all 


94         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

protested  there  was  none,  as  it  was  too  dark  to  distin- 
guish ;  but  the  little  man  soon  raised  his  voice  and  bid 
the  coachman  proceed  ;  a  dozen  voices  gave  contrary- 
orders.  'Twas  a  proper  riot,  I  was  really  alarmed.  My 
gentleman,  with  avast  deal  of  fashionable  independence, 
swore  no  power  on  earth  should  make  him  quit  his  seat ; 
but  a  gentleman  at  the  door  jump't  into  the  carriage, 
caught  hold  of  him,  and  would  have  dragged  him  out  if 
we  had  not  all  entreated  them  to  desist.  He  squeezed 
again  into  his  seat,  inwardly  exulting  to  think  he 
should  get  safe  home  from  such  rough  creatures  as  the 
men,  should  pass  for  a  lady,  be  secure  under  their  pro- 
tection, for  none  would  insult  him  before  them,  mean 
creature  ! !  The  carriage  at  length  started  full  of  ladies, 
and  not  one  gentleman  to  protect  us,  except  our  lady 
man  who  had  crept  to  us  for  shelter.  When  we  found 
ourselves  in  the  street,  the  first  thing  was  to  find  out 
who  was  in  the  carriage  and  where  we  were  all  going, 
who  first  must  be  left.  Luckily  two  gentlemen  had 
followed  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  and  when  it  stopt 
took  out  the  ladies  as  they  got  to  their  houses.  Our 
sweet  little,  trembling,  delicate,  unprotected  fellow  sat 
immovable  whilst  the  two  gentlemen  that  were  obliged 
to  walk  thro'  all  the  snow  and  storm  carried  all  the 
ladies  from  the  carriage.  What  could  be  the  motive  of 
the  little  wretch  for  creeping  in  with  us  I  know  not :  I 
should  have  thought  'twas  his  great  wish  to  serve  the 
ladies,  if  he  had  moved  from  the  seat,  but  'twas  the 
most  singular  thing  I  ever  heard  of.      We  at  length 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,         95 

arrived  at  the  place  of  our  destination.  Miss  Weeks 
asked  Miss  Coffin  (for  that  was  the  unlucky  girl's  name) 
to  go  home  with  her,  which  she  readily  did.  The  gentle- 
men then  proceeded  to  take  us  out.  My  beau,  unused 
to  carrying  such  a  weight  of  sin  and  folly,  sank  under 
its  pressure,  and  I  was  obliged  to  carry  my  mighty  self 
through  the  snow  which  almost  buried  me.  Such  a 
time,  I  never  shall  forget  it!  My  great-grandmother 
never  told  any  of  her  youthful  adventures  to  equal  it. 
The  storm  continued  till  Monday,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
stay ;  but  Monday  I  insisted  if  there  was  any  possibility 
of  getting  to  Sister's  to  set  out.  The  horse  and  sleigh 
were  soon  at  the  door,  and  again  I  sallied  forth  to  brave 
the  tempestuous  weather  (for  it  still  snowed)  and  sur- 
mount the  many  obstacles  I  had  to  meet  with.  We 
rode  on  a  few  rods,  when  coming  directly  upon  a  large 
drift,  we  stuck  fast.  We  could  neither  get  forward  nor 
turn  round.  After  waiting  till  I  was  most  frozen  we  got 
out,  and  with  the  help  of  a  truckman  the  sleigh  was 
lifted  up  and  turned  towards  a  cross  street  that  led  to 
Federal  Street.  We  again  went  on ;  at  the  corner  we 
found  it  impossible  to  turn  up  or  turn,  but  must  go 
down  and  begin  where  we  first  started,  and  take  a  new 
course ;  but  suddenly  turning  the  corner  we  came  full 
upon  a  pair  of  trucks,  heavily  laden ;  the  drift  on  one 
side  was  so  large  that  it  left  a  very  narrow  passage 
between  that  and  the  corner  house,  indeed  we  were 
obliged  to  go  so  near  that  the  post  grazed  my  bonnet. 
What  was  to  be  done?     Our  horses'  heads  touched 


96         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

before  we  saw  them.  I  jump't  out,  the  sleigh  was  un- 
fastened and  lifted  round,  and  we  again  measured  back 
our  old  steps.  At  length  we  arrived  at  Sister  Boyd's 
door,  and  the  drift  before  it  was  the  greatest  we  had 
met  with ;  the  horse  was  so  exhausted  that  he  sunk 
down,  and  we  really  thought  him  dead.  'Twas  some 
distance  from  the  gate  and  no  path.  The  gentleman 
took  me  up  in  his  arms  and  carried  me  till  my  weight 
pressed  him  so  far  into  the  snow  that  he  had  no  power 
to  move  his  feet.  I  rolled  out  of  his  arms  and  wal- 
lowed till  I  reached  the  gate ;  then  rising  to  shake  off 
the  snow,  I  turned  and  beheld  my  beau  fixed  and  im- 
moveable ;  he  could  not  get  his  feet  out  to  take  another 
step.  At  length,  making  a  great  exertion  to  spring  his 
whole  length  forward,  he  made  out  to  reach  the  poor 
horse,  who  lay  in  a  worse  condition  than  his  master. 
By  this  time  all  the  family  had  gathered  to  the  window, 
indeed  they  saw  the  whole  frolic  ;  but  'twas  not  yet 
ended,  for,  unluckily,  in  pulling  off  Miss  Weeks'  bonnet 
to  send  to  the  sleigh  to  be  carried  back,  I  pulled  off  my 
wig  and  left  my  head  bare.  I  was  perfectly  convulsed 
with  laughter.  Think  what  a  ludicrous  figure  I  must 
have  been,  still  standing  at  the  gate,  my  bonnet  half- 
way to  the  sleigh  and  my  wig  in  my  hand.  However,  I 
hurried  it  on,  for  they  were  all  laughing  at  the  window, 
and  made  the  best  of  my  way  into  the  house.  The  horse 
was  unhitched  and  again  set  out,  and  left  me  to  ponder 
on  the  incidents  of  the  morning.  I  have  since  heard  of 
several   events   that  took  place   that  Assembly  night 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.         97 

much  more  amusing  than  mine,  —  nay,  Don  Quixote's 
most  ludicrous  adventures  compared  with  some  of  them 
will  appear  like  the  common  events  of  the  day. 


March  12,  1802. 

William  Weeks  is  going  to  Philipsburg1  and  thinks  of 
returning  by  the  way  of  Scarborough  ;  if  so,  will  leave 
this  at  our  house,  otherwise  can  return  it  to  me.  I  have 
not  yet  seen  Miss  Jewett,  but  I  hear  she  has  returned. 
Did  your  Saco  party  come  as  you  expected  ?  Give  my 
love  to  Miss  Tappan,  and  tell  her  nothing  but  the  fame 
of  her  beauty  would  carry  this  young  man  so  many 
miles  out  of  his  way.  I  found  he  was  very  desirous  of 
calling  at  our  house,  therefore  wrote  by  him.  Tell  her 
she  must  answer  for  the  mischief  done  by  leading  young 
men  astray  from  their  path.  I  will  estimate  the  loss  it 
will  be  to  William  :  —  he  will  ride  6  or  8  miles  further 
than  necessary,  —  fatigue  his  horse,  —  wear  out  his 
sleigh  runners,  and  certainly  be  detained  3  hours.  Now, 
as  we  know  a  gentleman's  time  is  much  more  valuable 
than  a  lady's,  it  must  be  a  real  loss  to  him.  3  dollars  a 
day  for  posting  books  any  common  accountant  would 
have  ;  and  allowing  him  but  just  so  much,  his  loss  would 
certainly  amount  to  4  —  6  on  that  score.  I  speak  merely 
of  the  loss  on  the  score  of  interest ;  —  how  deeply  it  may 
affect  him  otherwise  may  better  be  imagined  from  the 
ravages  she  has  committed  in  Mr.  Orr's  heart  than  from 
any  thing  I  can  say.     This  short  visit  may  derange  all  his 

1  Phippsburg. 


98         A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

reasoning  faculties,  and  give  a  different  hue  to  all  his 
future  prospects,  —  it  may  give  him  a  disrelish  for  all 
amusements,  and  make  him  sigh  for  the  calm  serenity 
of  domestic  life,  —  to  sum  up  all  together  —  it  may 
make  him  in  love, — but  I  shall  have  no  time  to  say 
anything  else,  if  I  run  on  with  this  any  further.  To- 
morrow I  expect  to  go  to  Gorham,  —  return  the  same 
evening  or  Sunday  morning.  I  am  still  at  Mrs.  Coffin's, 
but  shall  return  to  Sister  when  I  come  from  Gorham. 
We  have  had  a  number  of  pleasant  parties  this  week,  — 
Tuesday  Mrs.  Robert  Boyd  had  a  charming  one. 
Wednesday  had  a  large  one  here,  and  to-day  all  going  to 
Capt.  Robinson's,  where  we  expect  to  dance.  To-mor- 
row I  go  to  Gorham.  I  wrote  to  Mamma  requesting 
money  to  buy  a  lace  shade,  —  I  called  to  look  at  them 
again  and  the  shopkeeper  told  me  he  was  mistaken  in 
the  price,  for  it  was  21  per  yard  instead  of  the  whole 
pattern,  which  makes  a  vast  difference.  I,  of  course, 
think  no  more  of  lace  shades,  but  I  still  think  of  some 
money,  I  have  but  4  cents  in  the  world,  not  enough  to 
pay  the  postage  of  a  letter,  pray  send  me  a  little  imme- 
diately. I  shall  send  you  a  description  of  the  Assembly 
—  which  I  believe  you  may  read  to  my  Mother  if  you 
wish,  'twill  amuse  her  I  know.  I  wish  you  would  look 
in  the  old  desk  among  my  papers  and  get  a  little  Draw- 
ing book,  — directions  for  drawing  printed  in  a  pam- 
phlet, and  give  to  William  to  bring  over.  I  hope  the 
snow  will  last  till  Mamma  comes  over  and  I  return 
home,  'tis  delightful  weather.     How  do  the  daisies  and 


TR] 

UNr 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,         99 

jelly  flowers  ?  Mrs.  Parker  is  going  to  give  me  some 
flower  seeds.  I  hear  frequent  enquiries  for  you — when 
are  you  coming  in  town  ?  Tell  Miss  Tappan  I  had  the 
honor  of  dancing  a  voluntary  dance  with  Mr.  Orr  at  the 
last  assembly,  —  he  attracted  much  attention  by  his  ir- 
regular expression  —  "  The  floor  was  very  unyielding" 
&c,  &c.  I  did  not  tell  you  any  one's  adventures  but 
my  own  on  that  eventful  night.  Poor  Mr.  Orr,  impa- 
tient to  get  home,  plunged  into  the  snow  without  wait- 
ing for  a  carriage,  and  unfortunately  turning  up  street 
instead  of  down,  got  most  to  Mr.  Vaughn's  before  he 
discovered  his  mistake,  and  was  obliged  to  turn  round 
and  worry  his  way  back  again,  he  was  half  dead  when 
he  got  to  his  lodgings.  Eunice  Deering  was  tumbled 
over  and  when  Mr.  Little  took  her  from  the  carriage 1  . 


Portland,  May  23,  1802. 

I  receive  your  apology  and  am  satisfied  —  'tis  not  the 
manner  of  making  apologies  I  think  most  of,  but  that 
long  dissertation  on  the  subject  continually  obtrudes  it- 
self on  your  mind  whenever  you  feel  conscious  an  apol- 
ogy is  necessary,  but  while  I  am  convinced  nothing  but 
the  fear  of  appearing  inconsistent  prevents  your  making 
these  said  apologies,  I  will  not  complain — let  them 
come  "  edgeways  "  or  any  other  way  —  so  long  as  I  am 
convinced  you  feel  their  necessity.  But  I  have  been 
pondering  on  your  new  plan  of  life,  yet  I  confess  it  does 

1  This  letter  was  never  finished. 


ioo       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

not  appear  to  me  so  delightful  as  to  you,  it  sounds  well, 
—  tickles  the  fancy,  —  cuts  a  pretty  figure  on  paper 
and  would  form  a  delightful  chapter  for  a  novel.  Our 
novelists  have  worn  the  pleasures  of  rural  life  thread- 
bare, every  lovesick  swain  imagines  that  with  the  mis- 
tress of  his  heart  he  could  leave  the  noisy  tumultuous 
scenes  of  life  and  in  the  shades  of  rural  retirement  feel 
all  the  delightful  serenity  and  peace  ascribed  to  the 
golden  age.  The  Philosopher  and  the  Poet  fly  to  this 
imaginary  heaven  with  as  much  enthusiasm  as  the  lover. 
Here,  say  they,  we  can  contemplate  the  beauty  and  sub- 
limity of  nature  free  from  interruption  ;  here  the  reflect- 
ing mind  can  find  endless  subjects  for  contemplation  ! 
here  all  is  peace  and  love  !  no  discord  can  find  a  place 
among  these  innocent  and  happy  beings,  —  they  live 
but  to  promote  the  happiness  of  each  other  and  their 
every  action  teems  with  benevolence  and  love.  Yet  let 
us  judge  for  ourselves,  —  we  all  have  seen  what  the 
pleasures  of  rural  life  are,  and  whatever  Poets  may  have 
ascribed  to  it,  we  must  know  there  is  as  much  depravity 
and  consequently  as  much  discontent  in  the  inhabitants 
of  a  country  village  as  in  the  most  populous  city.  They 
are  generally  ignorant,  illiterate,  without  knowledge  to 
discover  the  real  blessings  they  enjoy  by  comparing 
them  with  others,  continually  looking  to  those  above 
them  with  envy  and  discontent  and  imagine  their  share 
of  happiness  is  proportioned  to  their  rank  and  power. 
I  am  convinced  that  a  country  life  is  more  calculated 
to  produce  that  security  and  happiness  we  are  all  in 
pursuit  of  than  any  other,  but  those  who  have  ever  been 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        101 

accustomed  to  it  have  no  relish  for  its  pleasures,  and 
those  who  quit  the  busy  scenes  of  life,  disgusted  by  the 
duplicity  or  ingratitude  of  the  world,  or  oppressed  by 
the  weight  of  accumulated  misfortune  —  carry  with  them 
feelings  and  sentiments  which  cannot  be  reciprocated. 
Solitary  happiness  I  have  no  idea  of,  'tis  only  in  the 
delightful  sympathies  of  friendship,  similarity  of  senti- 
ments, that  genuine  happiness  can  be  enjoyed.  Your 
mind  is  cultivated  and  enlarged,  your  sentiments  deli- 
cate and  refined,  you  could  not  expect  to  find  many  with 
whom  you  could  converse  on  a  perfect  equality,  —  or 
rather  many  whose  sentiments  could  assimilate  with 
yours.  Were  I  a  man,  I  should  think  it  cowardly  to 
bury  myself  in  solitude,  —  nay,  I  should  be  unwilling  to 
confess  I  felt  myself  unable  to  preserve  my  virtue  where 
there  were  temptations  to  destroy  it,  there  is  no  merit 
in  being  virtuous  when  there  is  no  struggle  to  preserve 
that  virtue.  'Tis  in  the  midst  of  temptations  and  al- 
lurements that  the  active  and  generous  virtues  must  be 
exerted  in  their  full  force.  One  virtuous  action  where 
there  were  temptations  and  delusions  to  surmount  would 
give  more  delight  to  my  own  heart,  more  real  satisfac- 
tion than  a  whole  life  spent  in  more  negative  goodness, 
he  must  be  base  indeed  who  can  voluntarily  act  wrong 
when  no  allurement  draws  him  from  the  path  of  virtue. 
You  say  you  never  dip't  much  into  the  pleasures  of  high 
life  and  therefore  should  have  but  little  to  regret  on 
that  score.  In  the  choice  of  life  one  ought  to  consult 
their  own  dispositions  and  inclinations,  their  own  pow- 
ers and  talents.     We  all  have  a  preference  to  some  par- 


102       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

ticular  mode  of  life,  and  we  surely  ought  to  endeavor  to 
arrive  at  that  which  will  more  probably  ensure  us  most 
happiness.  I  have  often  thought  what  profession  I 
should  choose  were  I  a  man.  I  might  then  think  very 
differently  from  what  I  do  now,  yet  I  have  always 
thought  if  I  felt  conscious  of  possessing  brilliant  talents, 
the  law  would  be  my  choice.  Then  I  might  hope  to 
arrive  at  an  eminence  which  would  be  gratifying  to  my 
feelings.  I  should  then  hope  to  be  a  public  character, 
respected  and  admired,  —  but  unless  I  was  convinced  I 
possessed  the  talents  which  would  distinguish  me  as  a 
speaker  I  would  be  anything  rather  than  a  lawyer  ;  — 
from  the  dry  sameness  of  such  employments  as  the  busi- 
ness of  an  office  all  my  feelings  would  revolt,  but  to  be 
an  eloquent  speaker  would  be  the  delight  of  my  heart. 
I  thank  Heaven  I  was  bom  a  woman.  I  have  now  only 
patiently  to  wait  till  some  clever  fellow  shall  take  a  fancy 
to  me  and  place  me  in  a  situation,  I  am  determined  to 
make  the  best  of  it,  let  it  be  what  it  will.  We  ladies, 
you  know,  possess  that  "  sweet  pliability  of  temper " 
that  disposes  us  to  enjoy  any  situation,  and  we  must 
have  no  choice  in  these  things  till  we  find  what  is  to  be 
our  destiny,  then  we  must  consider  it  the  best  in  the 
world.  But  remember,  I  desire  to  be  thankful  I  am  not 
a  man.  I  should  not  be  content  with  moderate  abili- 
ties —  nay,  I  should  not  be  content  with  mediocrity  in 
any  thing,  but  as  a  woman  I  am  equal  to  the  generality 
of  my  sex,  and  I  do  not  feel  that  great  desire  of  fame  I 
think  I  should  if  I  was  a  man.  Should  you  hereafter 
become  an  inhabitant  of  Boyford  I  make  no  doubt  you 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        103 

will  be  very  happy,  because  you  will  weigh  all  the  ad- 
vantages and  disadvantages.  Yet  I  do  not  think  you 
qualified  for  the  laborious  life  farmers  generally  lead, 
and  it  requires  a  little  fortune  to  live  an  independent 
farmer  without  labor.  Rebecca  would  do  charmingly,  I 
know  you  are  imagining  her  the  partner  of  all  your  joys 
and  cares,  — of  all  your  harmony  and  content,  when  you 
charm  yourself  with  your  description  of  rural  happiness. 
With  her  you  imagined  you  could  quit  the  world  and 
almost  live  happy  in  a  desert.  So  may  it  be,  —  I  know 
none  but  a  lover  could  paint  the  sweets  of  retirement 
with  such  enthusiasm.  'Tis  my  turn  now  to  rail  a  little, 
—  the  world  also  has  linked  you  to  a  certain  person,  as 
firmly  —  nay,  more  so  than  it  ever  did  me ;  however  I 
will  not  press  so  closely  on  this  subject.  I  shall  not  ex- 
pect that  candid  confession  I  made  you,  —  as  your  feel- 
ings and  mine  are,  I  believe,  entirely  different  on  the 
two  subjects.  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question  which  you 
may  possibly  think  improper,  but  if  so,  do  not  answer 
it.  —  Is  Mary 1  really  engaged  to  Mr.  Coffin  ?  I  hear  so 
from  so  many  persons  and  in  so  decided  a  manner  I 
cannot  doubt.  I  would  ask  her,  but  in  these  things 
there  is  so  much  deception,  there  is  no  finding  out,  — 
but  however,  I  think  I  should  never  deny  such  a  thing 
when  I  once  was  engaged,  —  however,  enough  of  this. 
I  am  now  in  Portland,  shall  return  to-morrow  to  Scarbor- 
ough where  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  see  you  and  Mary, 
so  I  depend    on    your    bringing  her  over   very  soon. 

1  Mary  King  Porter  (at  this  time  twenty  years  of  age)  married  Na- 
than Coffin. 


104       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Adieu —  dinner  is  ready  and  I  have  nothing  to  say  worth 
losing  it  for,  write  me  often —  I  shall  be  at  home  alone 
these  two  months  to  come,  —  remember  you  have  it  in 
your  power  to  amuse  and  gratify.  Eliza. 


I  hardly  know  what  to  say  to  you,  Cousin,  you  have 
attacked  my  system  with  a  kind  of  fury  that  has  entirely 
obscured  your  judgment,  and  instead  of  being  convinced 
of  its  impracticability,  you  appear  to  fear  its  justness. 
You  tell  me  of  some  excellent  effects  of  my  system,  but 
pardon  me  for  thinking  they  are  dictated  by  prejudice 
rather  than  reason.  I  feel  fully  convinced  in  my  own 
mind  that  no  such  effects  could  be  produced.  You  ask 
if  this  plan  of  education  will  render  one  a  more  dutiful 
child,  a  more  affectionate  wife,  &c,  &c,  surely  it  will,  — 
those  virtues  which  now  are  merely  practised  from  the 
momentary  impulse  of  the  heart,  will  then  be  adhered  to 
from  principle,  a  sense  of  duty,  and  a  mind  sufficiently 
strengthened  not  to  yield  implicitly  to  every  impulse, 
will  give  a  degree  of  uniformity,  of  stability  to  the  fe- 
male character,  which  it  evidently  at  present  does  not 
possess.  From  having  no  fixed  guide  for  our  conduct 
we  have  acquired  a  reputation  for  caprice,  which  we 
justly  deserve.  I  can  hardly  believe  you  serious  when 
you  say  that  "  the  enlargement  of  the  mind  will  inevi- 
tably produce  superciliousness  and  a  desire  of  ascend- 
ancy/' —  I  should  much  sooner  expect  it  from  an  ig- 
norant, uncultivated  mind.  We  cannot  enlarge  and 
improve   our   minds  without  perceiving  our  weakness, 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        105 

and  wisdom  is  always  modest  and  unassuming,  —  on 
the  contrary  a  mind  that  has  never  been  exerted  knows 
not  its  deficiencies  and  presumes  much  more  on  its 
powers  than  it  otherwise  would.  You  beg  me  to  drop 
this  crazy  scheme  and  say  no  more  about  enlarging  the 
mind,  as  it  is  disagreeable,  and  you  are  too  much  preju- 
diced ever  to  listen  with  composure  to  me  when  I  write 
on  the  subject.  I  quit  it  forever,  nor  will  I  again  shock 
your  ear  with  a  plan  which  you  think  has  nothing  for  its 
foundation  either  just  or  durable,  which  a  girlish  imagi- 
nation gave  birth  to,  and  a  presumptuous  folly  cher- 
ished. I  fear  I  have  rather  injured  the  cause  than 
otherwise,  and  what  I  have  said  may  have  more  firmly 
established  those  sentiments  in  you  which  I  wished  to 
destroy.  Be  it  as  it  may,  I  believe  it  is  a  cause  that  has 
been  more  injured  by  its  friends  than  its  enemies,  I 
am  sorry  that  I  have  said  so  much,  yet  I  said  no  more 
than  I  really  thought,  and  still  think,  just  and  true.  I 
beg  you  to  say  no  more  to  me  on  the  subject  as  I  shall 
know  'twill  be  only  a  form  of  politeness  which  I  will 
dispense  with.  You  undoubtedly  think  I  am  acting  out 
of  my  sphere  in  attempting  to  discuss  this  subject,  and 
my  presumption  probably  gave  rise  to  that  idea,  which 
you  expressed  in  your  last,  that  however  unqualified  a 
woman  might  be  she  was  always  equipt  for  the  discus- 
sion of  any  subject  and  overwhelmed  her  hearers  with 
her  "clack."  On  what  subjects  shall  I  write  you  ?  I 
shall  either  fatigue  and  disgust  you  with  female  trifles, 
or  shock  you  by  stepping  beyond  the  limits  you  have 
prescribed.     As  I  cannot  pursue  a   medium   I   fear   I 


io6       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

shall  be  obliged  to  relinquish  the  hope  of  pleasing  —  of 
course  of  writing.  Good  night,  I  am  sleepy  and  stupid. 
Morning.  O,  how  I  hate  this  warm  weather,  it  deprives 
me  of  the  power  of  using  any  exertion,  it  clogs  my  ideas, 
and  I  ask  no  greater  felicity  than  the  pleasure  of  doing 
nothing.  I  intended  to  amuse  you  with  some  of  the  tri- 
fles of  the  day,  but  I  shall  scarcely  do  them  justice  this 
morning.  Friday  night  we  had  a  ball,  —  the  hall  was 
decorated  with  much  taste.  'Twas  filled  up  for  the 
masons.  At  the  head  of  the  room  there  was  a  most 
romantic  little  bovver,  four  large  pillars  formed  of  green 
and  interspersed  with  flowers,  supported  a  kind  of  can- 
opy which  was  arched  in  front,  with  this  inscription  — 
"  Here  Peace  and  Silence  reign,"  filled  with  a  parcel  of 
girls  whining  sentiment,  and  silly  fellows  spouting  love, 
it  produced  a  most  laughable  scene.  The  deities  to 
whom  it  was  dedicated  withdrew  from  the  sacred  re- 
treat, which  was  so  profaned,  and  noise  and  folly  reigned 
supreme,  —  so  sweet  a  place,  —  so  fine  an  opportunity 
for  making  speeches  —  'twas  irresistible,  even  you 
would  have  caught  a  spark  of  inspiration  from  the  sur- 
rounding glories,  —  and  felt  a  degree  of  emulation  at 
the  flashes  of  genius  that  blazed  from  every  quarter. 
Invention  was  on  the  rack,  the  stores  of  memory  were 
exhausted  and  folly  blushed  to  be  so  outdone.  Mr. 
Symmes  sat  down  to  overwhelm  me  with  a  torrent  of 
eloquence,  yet  his  compassionate  heart  often  prompted 
him  to  hesitate  that  I  might  recover  myself.  Such 
stores  of  learning  did  he  display,  such  mines  of  wisdom 
did  he  open  to  my  view,  that  I  gazed  with  astonishment 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       107 

and  awe  and  scarce   believed  "  That   one   small   head 
could  carry  all  he  knew."     Mr.  Kinsman  with  a  counte- 
nance  that  beamed  with  benevolence  and  compassion 
gazed  on  all  around,  while  a  benign  smile  played  round 
his  mouth  and  dimpled  his  polished  cheek,  the  laughing 
loves  peeped  from  his  eyes  and  aimed  their  never-failing 
darts —  rash  girl  —  too,  too  near  hast  thou  approached 
this   divinity  —  the   poisoned  dart    still    rankles  in  thy 
heart,  —  "The  lingering  pang  of  hopeless  love  unpitied 
I  endure,"   and   feel  a  wound   within  my  heart  which 
death  alone  can  cure.     Monday  night —  You  will  easily 
perceive  that  I  am  obliged  to  write  when  and  where  I 
can,  I  have  not   quite  so  much  leisure  as  when  at  Scar- 
borough, and  though  in  the  very  place  to  hear  news,  I 
have  no  faculty  of  relating  what  I  hear  in  a  manner  that 
could    interest  you.     Last  evening  I  spent  in  talking 
scandal  (for  which  God  forgive  me)  but  was  too  tempt- 
ing  an  occasion  to  be  resisted.     I  wish  you  were  ac- 
quainted with  some  of  the  Portland  ladies,  I  would  then 
tell  you  many  things  that  might  amuse.      But  I  dare  not 
introduce  you  to  them,  lest  I  should  entirely  mistake 
their  character,  and   that  when    personally  acquainted 
with  them  you  would  be  confirmed  in  your  opinion  of 
my  wanting  penetration  in  studying  characters.     Yes- 
terday I  spent  with  Martha,  I  wish  you  were  acquainted 
with  her,  she  is  truly  an  original.     I  never  saw  one  that 
bore  any  resemblance  to  her.     She  despises  flattery  and 
is  even  above  praise,  beautiful  without  vanity,  possess- 
ing a  refined  understanding  without  pedantry,  the  most 
exquisite  sensibility  connected  with  all  the  great  and 


108      A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

noble  qualities  of  the  mind.  She  knows  that  no  woman 
in  America  ever  was  more  admired,  she  has  received 
every  attention  which  could  be  paid  and  yet  is  exactly 
as  before  she  left  Portland.  The  same  condescension, 
the  same  elegance  and  unaffected  simplicity  of  manners, 
the  same  independent  and  noble  sentiments.  Perhaps  I 
am  blinded  to  her  faults,  yet  I  think  she  deserves  all  I 
say  of  her,  nay  more,  for  she  "  outstrips  all  praise  and 
makes  it  halt  behind  her."  They  have  determined  to 
go  to  England,  in  two  months  at  farthest  they  will  leave 
America,  not  to  return  for  2  years,  —  two  years  !  how 
many,  many  events  will  have  taken  place.  Perhaps  ere 
that  I  shall  rest  in  the  tomb  of  my  fathers  forgotten  and 
unknown  !  !  Perhaps  oppressed  with  care  and  borne 
down  with  misfortune,  I  shall  have  lost  all  relish  for  life 
—  all  hopes  of  pleasure  may  have  ceased  to  exist  and 
the  grave  of  time  closed  over  them  forever.  I  grow 
gloomy,  I  wish  I  could  write  anything,  but  I  have  never 
felt  a  relish  for  writing  since  I  have  been  in  Portland,  — 
at  home  it  supplies  the  place  of  society,  but  here  I  need 
no  such  substitute.  Eliza. 

Write  by  the  post  if  you  have  no  other  opportunity, 
the  players  will  commence  acting  next  Wednesday. 

I  believe  it  is  the  28th. 

Mr.  Moses  Porter,  Bidcleford. 

This  letter  is  the  last  one  written  by  Miss  Southgate 
to  her  cousin  Moses  Porter.  The  following  one  from 
Dr.  Southgate  to  his  brother-in-law,  Rufus  King,  who 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.      109 

was  then  living  in  England,  tells  of  the  untimely  death 
of  his  nephew,  and  its  sad  cause,  July  26th,  1802. 


Our  brother  and  sister  Porter  of  Biddeford  have 
lost  their  eldest  son  Moses.  He  dyed  (sic)  about 
fifteen  days  since  of  the  yellow  fever.  He  had  a  ship 
arrived  from  the  West  Indies.  On  her  passage  the 
cook  boy  dyed  suddenly — the  rest  of  the  crew  were 
none  of  them  sick,  but  of  those  persons  who  went  on 
board,  five  or  six  were  taken  with  the  yellow  fever  in 
about  four  days  —  none  of  whom  lived  more  than  four 
or  five  days.  Moses  is  much  lamented  by  his  family 
and  acquaintance  —  this  month  would  have  completed 
his  law  education.  His  talents,  generous  and  amiable 
disposition  formed  a  pleasing  prospect  etc.  etc.  Mrs. 
Porter's  health  is  better,  better  than  I  ever  expected 
she  would  have  enjoyed  tho'  she  is  now  only  a  feeble 
woman.  R.  Southgate. 

Journal. 

Tuesday,  July  6th,  1802. 

Arrived  in  Salem,  met  Mrs.  Derby  at  the  door  who 
received  us  joyfully.  At  tea-time  saw  the  children,  fine 
boys,  very  fond  of  Ellen  and  are  managed  by  their 
Father  with  great  judgment.  How  few  understand  the 
true  art  of  managing  children,  and  how  often  is  the  im- 
portant task  of  forming  young  minds  left  to  the  discre- 
tion of  servants  who  caress  or  reprove  as  the  impulse 
of  the  moment  compels  them.  Here  are  we  convinced 
of  the  great  necessity  that  Mothers,  or  all  ladies  should 


no       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

have  cultivated  minds,  as  the  first  rudiments  of  educa- 
tion are  always  received  from  them,  and  at  that  early- 
period  of  life  when  the  mind  is  open  to  every  new  im- 
pression and  ready  to  receive  the  seeds  which  must 
form  the  future  principles  of  the  character.  At  that 
time  how  important  is  it  to  be  judicious  in  your  con- 
duct towards  them  !  In  the  evening  Mr.  Hasket  Derby 
came  in  on  his  return  from  New  York  ;  he  is  a  fine, 
majestic-looking  man,  tho'  he  strikes  you  rather  heavy 
and  unwieldy  on  his  first  appearance  ;  he  says  little, 
yet  does  not  appear  absent,  —  has  travelled  much,  and 
in  his  manners  has  an  easy  unassuming  politeness  that 
is  not  the  acquirement  of  a  day.  — Wednesday  morning 
had  an  agreeable  tete-a-tete  with  Ellen,  talked  over  all 
our  affairs :  in  the  afternoon  rode  out  to  Hersey  Der- 
by's a  farm,  about  3  miles  from  Salem  ;  a  most  delight- 
ful place!  The  gardens  superior  to  any  I  have  ever 
seen  of  the  kind  ;  cherries  in  perfection  !  We  really 
feasted !  There  are  3  divisions  in  the  gardens,  and  you 
pass  from    the  lower  one   to   the   upper   thro'    several 

1  E.  Hasket  Derby,  Jr.,  was  born  in  Salem  in  1766,  and  died  in  London- 
derry, H.  N.,  in  1826.  Mr.  Derby  married,  in  1797,  Miss  Lucy  Brown. 
He  was  the  son  of  E.  Hasket  Derby,  who  married  Elizabeth  Crown- 
inshield,  a  leading  merchant  of  Salem,  and  founder  of  the  East  India 
trade  ;  known  in  the  annals  of  Salem  as  "  King  Derby."  Mr.  Derby,  the 
father,  had  four  sons,  who  married  and  had  families.  They  were  E.  Has- 
ket, Jr.,  just  mentioned ;  John,  who  married  Miss  Barton  and  secondly 
Miss  Eleanor  Coffin ;  E.  Hersey,  who  married  Miss  Hannah  Brown 
Fitch  ;  and  Richard  C,  who  married  Miss  Martha  Coffin.  The  father 
of  E.  Hasket  Derby,  Sen.,  was  Richard  Derby,  merchant,  a  delegate  to  the 
Provincial  Congress  in  1774-5. 


Mr.  E.  B  jjt.  28,    !794 

a  miniature  in  possession  of  Dr  Hask 


OF  THE 

{  UNIVERSITY 
s^L  califorHVk 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        in 

arches  rising  one  above  the  other.  From  the  lower 
gate  you  have  a  fine  perspective  view  of  the  whole 
range,  rising  gradually  until  the  sight  is  terminated  by 
a  hermitage.  The  summer  house  in  the  center  has  an 
arch  thro'  it  with  3  doors  on  each  side  which  open  into 
little  apartments,  and  one  of  them  opens  to  a  staircase 
by  which  you  ascend  into  a  square  room  the  whole  size 
of  the  building ;  it  has  a  fine  airy  appearance  and  com- 
mands a  view  of  the  whole  garden  ;  two  large  chestnut 
trees  on  each  side  almost  shade  it  from  the  view  when 
seen  from  the  sides ;  the  air  from  the  windows  is  al- 
ways pure  and  cool,  and  the  eye  wanders  with  delight 
and  admiration  over  the  extensive  landscape  below,  so 
beautifully  variegated  with  the  charms  of  nature.  Im- 
agination luxuriates  with  delight,  and  as  it  plays  o'er  the 
beauties  of  an  opening  flower,  imperceptibly  wanders 
to  the  first  principles  of  nature,  its  wonderful  and  sur- 
prising operation  ;  its  harmony  and  beauty.  The  room 
is  ornamented  with  some  Chinese  figures  and  seems 
calculated  for  serenity  and  peace.  'Tis  like  the  pavil- 
ion of  Caroline,  and  I  almost  looked  around  me  for  the 
music  of  the  Guitar  and  books  ;  but  I  heard  not  the 
tramplings  of  Lindorfs  horse,  nor  did  I  sing  to  hear 
the  echo  of  his  voice,  — "  Listen  to  love,  and  thou 
shalt  know  indifference  or  bless  the  foe  ; "  certain  it 
is,  however,  I  thought  of  Caroline  the  moment  I  en- 
tered. We  descended,  and  passing  thro'  the  arch, 
proceeded  to  the  hermitage,  which  terminated  the 
garden.     It  was  scarcely  perceptible  at  a  distance.     A 


ii2       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

large  weeping-willow  swept  the  roof  with  its  branches 
and  bespoke  the  melancholy  inhabitant.  We  caught  a 
view  of  the  little  hut  as  we  advanced  thro'  the  open- 
ing of  the  trees;  it  was  covered  with  bark, — a  small 
low  door,  slightly  latched,  immediately  opened  at  our 
touch.  A  venerable  old  man  was  seated  in  the  centre 
with  a  prayer-book  in  one  hand,  while  the  other  sup- 
ported his  cheek,  and  rested  on  an  old  table,  which, 
like  the  hermit,  seemed  moulding  to  decay ;  a  broken 
pitcher,  a  plate  and  tea-pot  sat  before  him,  and  his  tea- 
kettle sat  by  the  chimney ;  a  tattered  coverlit  was 
spread  over  a  bed  of  straw,  which  tho'  hard  might  be 
softened  by  resignation  and  content.  I  left  him  im- 
pressed with  veneration  and  fear  which  the  mystery  of 
his  situation  seemed  to  create.  We  returned  to  the 
house,  which  was  neat  and  handsome,  and  from  thence 
visited  the  Greenhouse,  where  we  saw  oranges  and 
lemons  in  perfection,  —  in  one  orange  tree  there  were 
green  ones,  ripe  ones  and  blossoms.  Every  plant  and 
shrub  which  was  beautiful  and  rare  was  collected  here, 
and  I  looked  around  with  astonishment  and  delight ;  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  garden  there  was  a  beautiful 
arbour  formed  of  a  mound  of  turf,  which  we  ascended 
by  several  steps  formed  likewise  of  turf,  and  'twas  sur- 
rounded by  a  thick  row  of  poplar  trees  which  branched 
out  quite  to  the  bottom  and  so  close  together  that  you 
could  not  see  through,  —  'twas  a  most  charming  place, 
and  I  know  not  how  long  we  should  have  remained  to 
admire  if  they  had  not  summoned  us  to  tea.     We  re- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        113 

turned  home,  and  Mr.  Hasket  Derby  asked  if  we  should 
not  like  to  walk  over  to  his  house  and  see  the  garden, 
—  we  readily  consented,  as  I  had  heard  much  of  the 
house.  The  evening  was  calm  and  delightful,  the  moon 
shone  in  its  greatest  splendor.  We  entered  the  house, 
and  the  door  opened  into  a  spacious  entry ;  on  each  side 
were  large  white  marble  images.  We  passed  on  by  doors 
on  each  side  opening  into  the  drawing-room,  dining- 
room,  parlor,  etc.,  etc.,  and  at  the  farther  part  of  the 
entry  a  door  opened  into  a  large,  magnificent  oval  room  ; 
and  another  door  opposite  the  one  we  entered  was 
thrown  open  and  gave  us  a  full  view  of  the  garden  be- 
low. The  moon  shone  with  uncommon  splendor.  The 
large  marble  vases,  the  images,  the  mirrors  to  corre- 
spond with  the  windows,  gave  it  so  uniform  and  finished 
an  appearance,  that  I  could  not  think  it  possible  I 
viewed  objects  that  were  real,  every  thing  appeared  like 
enchantment,  —  the  stillness  of  the  hour,  the  imperfect 
light  of  the  moon,  the  novelty  of  the  scene,  filled  my 
mind  with  sensations  I  never  felt  before.  I  could  not 
realize  every  thing  and  expected  every  moment  that  the 
wand  of  the  fairy  would  sweep  all  from  before  my  eyes 
and  leave  me  to  stare  and  wonder  what  it  meant.  You 
can  scarcely  conceive  any  thing  more  superb.  We 
descended  into  the  garden,  which  is  laid  out  with  ex- 
quisite taste,  an  airy  irregularity  seems  to  characterize 
the  whole.  At  the  foot  of  the  garden  there  was  a  sum- 
mer house,  and  a  row  of  tall  poplar  trees  which  hid 
every  thing  beyond  from  the  sight,  and  formed  a  kind 


ii4        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

of  walk.  I  arrived  there  and  to  my  astonishment  found 
thro'  the  opening  of  the  trees  that  there  was  a  beautiful 
terrace  the  whole  width  of  the  garden  ;  'twas  twenty- 
feet  from  the  street,  and  gravelled  on  the  top,  with  a 
white  balustrade  round  ;  'twas  almost  level,  and  the 
poplar  trees  so  close  that  we  could  only  occasionally 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  house.  The  moon  shone  full 
upon  it,  and  I  really  think  this  side  is  the  most  beauti- 
ful, tho'  'tis  the  back  one.  A  large  dome  swells  quite 
to  the  chamber-windows  and  is  railed  round  on  top  and 
forms  a  delightful  walk,  — the  magnificent  pillars  which 
support  it  fill  the  mind  with  pleasure.  We  returned 
into  the  house ;  and  on  passing  the  mirrors  I  involun- 
tarily started  back  at  seeing  so  much  company  in  the 
other  room.  We  entered  the  drawing-room  which  is 
superb,  furnished  with  blue  and  wood  color.  There  was 
the  Grand  Piano,  the  most  charming  Instrument  I  ever 
heard.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby,  Mr.  Hasket  D.,  Frank 
Coffin  and  myself  were  the  party,  and  I  was  requested  to 
play,  and  took  my  seat  at  the  Instrument,  and  had  just 
begun  playing,  when  a  slight  noise  in  the  entry  made 
me  turn  my  head.  A  gentleman  entered  and  was  intro- 
duced as  Mr.  Grey ;  made  a  most  graceful  bow,  took  his 
seat,  and  I  resumed  my  playing.  We  rose  to  depart, 
and  Mr.  G.  accompanied  us  home.  I  was  delighted  with 
his  conversation,  which  was  sensible,  unassuming,  and 
agreeable.  I  scarcely  saw  his  face,  as  there  was  no 
light. 

Thursday  at  home  all  day.     In  the  evening  walked 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        115 

in  the  garden.  The  evening  was  uncommonly  fine. 
The  moon  shines  brighter  in  Salem  than  anywhere 
else  ;  here  too  is  an  elegant  garden,  full  of  fruit  trees, 
the  walks  kept  as  nice  as  possible,  and  shaded  on 
each  side  by  plum  trees  ;  very  handsome  summer  house 
where  we  sat  an  hour  or  two.  Rambled  in  the  garden  all 
the  evening,  which  was  the  finest  I  ever  saw,  so  very 
light,  that,  as  Shakespeare  says,  "  'twas  but  the  daylight 
sick,  only  a  little  paler."  There  is  something  in  a  fine 
moonlight  evening  exquisitely  soothing  to  the  soul.  I 
have  felt  as  if  I  could  melt  away  with  the  exquisite  en- 
thusiasm of  my  sensations.  We  were  called  into  the 
house  and  found  Mrs.  West,  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Derby's  ;  but 
more  of  her  by-and-bye.  Friday  Dr.  Coffin  arrived,  and 
Dr.  Lathrop  and  Hasket  Derby  dined  with  us  and  set 
out  for  Boston. 


The  following  letter,  written  by  Martha  Coffin,  Eliza's 
most  intimate  friend,  and  descriptive  of  a  visit  that  she 
paid  to  Salem,  will  be  found  of  interest. 

June  29,  1800. 

My  dear  Ellen : 

I  have  never  told  you  all  about  my  visit  to  Salem. 
I  passed  my  time  as  you  may  imagine  very  charmingly, 
and  had  I  your  pen  or  your  talent  at  description  I 
would  endeavor  to  give  you  some  ideas  of  the  house, 
the  gardens,  and  the  farm  ;  but  it  is  Impossible. 


n6       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

The  Hermitage  more  than  answered  my  expectations. 
It  is  everything  which  we  see  described  in  novels,  and 
which  I  thought  was  not  to  be  found  in  reality. 

The  garden  beyond  description  beautiful,  does  indeed 
exceed  anything  of  the  kind  I  ever  saw.  Ten  thousand 
different  kinds  of  flowers  from  all  quarters  of  the  globe. 
Fruit  of  every  kind  in  abundance.  A  delightful  Sum- 
mer house  in  the  middle  of  the  garden,  furnished  quite 
in  the  rural  style ;  and  from  the  chamber  where  they 
sometimes  drink  tea  is  the  most  beautiful  prospect  you 
can  imagine.  M.  Coffin. 


Salem,  July  14,  1802. 

Dear  Mother : 

I  have  just  received  my  trunk  with  the  letter  and 
key.  I  perceive  you  have  not  received  my  letter  by 
Mr.  Jewett.  Fear  not,  my  dear  Mother,  tho'  gay  and 
volatile  in  my  disposition,  I  feel  that  I  shall  return 
home  with  the  same  sentiments  with  which  I  left  it. 
True,  I  was  in  the  midst  of  gaiety  and  splendor  such  as 
I  never  before  witnessed,  yet  a  something  within  whis- 
pers true  happiness  resides  not  here,  —  in  this  family 
all  is  calm  contentment  and  peaceful  pleasure.  Mr. 
Derby  is  everything  his  best  friends  can  wish  him,  and 
the  whole  family  consider  him  as  every  thing  good  and 
benevolent;  he  truly  is  so,  and  appears  one  of  the  finest 
men  I  ever  knew.     How  is  Uncle  Porter's  family  ?     I 


AKTOTYHE,     E.    BlEHSIAr.il 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       117 

cannot  even  now  reconcile  myself  to  the  idea  of  leaving 
them  so  unexpectedly  and  so  immediately,  yet  I  know- 
not  how  it  could  be  avoided.  I  am  in  the  midst  of 
amusements  and  pleasure,  they  drive  all  melancholy 
reflection  from  my  mind,  but  when  alone,  my  feelings 
warmly  pay  a  tribute  to  the  merit  of  our  departed 
Moses  ;  yet  I  cannot, — do  not  realize,  everything  con- 
tributes to  make  me  think  it  a  delusion,  a  mere  dream  ; 
how  is  it  possible  I  can  realize  it  ?  Yet  sometimes  I 
feel  it  is,  it  must  be  true.  How  soon  do  we  reconcile 
ourselves  to  the  loss  of  the  dearest  friends ;  what  would 
most  distract  us  in  anticipation  we  meet  with  calmness 
when  it  approaches ;  strange,  unaccountable.  I  surely 
loved  Moses  with  sincerity.  I  knew  of  no  person  so 
distantly  connected  whom  I  felt  so  interested  in,  —  yet 
he  is  dead,  —  he  is  gone,  and  I  can  speak  of  it  without 
emotion,  and  I  am  called.     Adieu,  I  will  write  soon. 

Eliza. 

Journal. 

Saturday,  July  n,  1802. 

We  rode  out,  Ellen  and  myself,  with  the  three  boys, 
in  a  hack.  Went  to  Danners  —  Parson  Wadsworth's,  to 
see  Mrs.  Rickman's  children  ;  took  them  in  to  ride  ; 
came  down  by  the  mills  and  went  across  to  Hasket 
Derby's  farm,  —  all  the  cherries  gone,  — rambled  about 
the  gardens  an  hour  and  returned  home,  —  charming 
ride;  the  country  round  Salem  is  delightful,  altho'  'tis 
situated  rather  in  a  plain,  'tis  surrounded  with  beautiful 


n8       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

hills,  handsome  trees,  ponds,  brooks,  etc.  We  got 
home  at  dusk  and  found  Mr.  Coffin  just  returned  from 
Boston.  Mrs.  Hasket  Derby  sent  a  great  basket  of 
cherries  and  her  compliments,  she  would  come  over  in 
the  morning.  I  wished  very  much  to  see  her,  she  had 
been  gone  5  weeks  to  the  Springs.  I  had  heard  Martha 
say  much  of  her  and  wished  much  that  to-morrow  could 
come. 

Next  morning — Sunday  —  went  to  Meeting.  Mr. 
Dana  of  Marblehead  preached  ;  very  devout,  unaffected 
young  man ;  saw  not  a  soul  I  had  ever  seen  before,  ex- 
cepting Mr.  Grey;  thought  I  should  not  have  known 
him  as  I  scarcely  saw  his  face  before.  Found  Mrs.  Has- 
ket Derby  on  my  return,  was  disappointed  in  her 
personal  appearance  ;  instead  of  finding  the  elegant, 
majestic,  beautiful  creature  my  imagination  had  pic- 
tured, I  beheld  a  little,  short,  plump  woman  dressed  in 
black,  a  coarse  complexion  and  anxious  eyes,  yet  I  had 
not  been  in  her  company  an  hour  without  confessing  to 
myself  she  was  the  most  agreeable,  fascinating  woman 
I  ever  saw.  She  continually  pleases  and  delights  you  ; 
she  appears  to  live  for  others,  nor  ever  bestows  a 
thought  upon  herself,  yet  so  perfectly  unconscious  of 
it,  that  it  seems  inherent  in  her  disposition,  and  to  flow 
without  any  effort.  She  planned  parties  of  amusement 
as  I  was  a  stranger,  and  we  fixed  upon  Friday  for  a 
fishing  party  to  Nahant ;  sent  to  Boston  for  some  to 
meet  us.  Monday  a  small  party  at  Mrs.  Derby's  came 
to  tea.     I   rode   in   the  chaise  with  Mr.  Grey.     Mrs. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        119 

Grey  and  a  Mr.  White,  an  Englishman,  in  her  carriage. 
Mr.  Coffin  and  Miss  Grey  in  another  chaise,  —  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hasket  Derby.  We  walked  on  a  hill  near  the 
house,  where  we  had  the  most  extensive  prospect  I 
ever  saw  —  the  whole  world  seemed  spread  before  us 
covered  with  the  richly  variegated  carpet  of  nature. 
We  returned  home  in  the  evening  wTith  a  fine  moon, 
and  all  went  to  Mr.  Grey's  to  spend  the  evening.  Most 
charming  time ;  treated  with  great  attention  by  Mrs. 
Grey,  who  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  fine  woman,  domestic, 
fond  of  her  children,  and  never  so  happy  as  in  contrib- 
uting to  their  amusement,  and  possesses  fine  sense, 
animated,  unceremonious,  and  agreeable. — Tuesday, 
Doct.  and  Mrs.  Coffin  and  Mrs.  Sumner  came  down 
from  Boston  ;  dined  together,  and  all  went  to  Hasket 
Derby's  farm  in  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Grey  and  Miss 
Bishop  of  the  party;  glad  to  see  Miss  Bishop  —  one  of 
my  old  school-mates.  Had  a  most  charming  ride ;  went 
in  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Grey.  All  returned  to  Mr. 
John  Derby's  and  spent  the  evening.  William  Grey 
and  his  father  came  in  the  evening ;  walked  in  the  gar- 
den. —  Wednesday,  large  party  of  gentlemen  to  dine 
with  Doct.  Coffin.  In  the  afternoon  all  went  to  Mrs. 
Grey's  ;  danced  in  the  evening.  Miss  Bishop  plays  and 
sings  charmingly.  Thursday,  Doct.  and  Mrs.  Coffin 
went  home,  and  in  the  afternoon  went  to  Mrs.  Hasket 
Derby's  with  a  party;  every  thing  elegant  and  pleasant. 
Friday  to  Nahant,  fishing  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hasket 
Derby,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Derby,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hersey 


120      A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Derby,  Miss  Bishop,  Mr.  Grey,  Mr.  Coffin,  and  myself, 
Miss  Heller,  Mr.  Prince,  who  looks  very  much  like 
Horatio,  and  several  others.  Met  there  some  smart 
Boston  beaux,  —  Mr.  Amory  Parkman,  Turner,  etc.,  etc. 
Spent  a  most  charming  day ;  caught  but  few  fish,  and 
very  warm,  yet  pleasant  notwithstanding  —  set  out  for 
home  just  as  the  sun  was  setting.  I  returned  in  the 
chaise  with  William  Grey,  Frank  with  Miss  Bishop,  — 
rode  2  miles  on  the  beach,  the  tide  down,  sun  just  set- 
ting; 'twas  charming  and  delightful.  Saturday  went 
out  to  Hersey  Derby's  farm  to  tea,  went  to  the  bathing 
house,  summer  house  —  and  saw  the  Rumford1  kitchen 
—  elegant  place,  beautiful  children,  —  rainy  afternoon, 
we  could  not  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  country  so  well. 
Sunday  —  went  to  meeting  and  to  tea  with  Mrs.  Hasket 

1  The  Rumford  kitchen  or  Roaster  was  invented  by  Benjamin  Thomp- 
son (Count  Rumford),  a  native  of  Salem.  Mr.  Thompson,  after  passing 
through  various  phases  of  existence,  went  to  Bavaria,  where  by  his  powers 
of  pleasing  and  wonderful  inventive  faculties  he  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  king,  and  by  him  was  created  Count  Rumford.  One  of  Count  Rum- 
ford's  particular  studies  was  the  laws  which  govern  heat  and  cold,  and  to 
him  we  are  indebted  for  great  improvement  in  our  chimneys,  fireplaces, 
and  kitchen  ranges.  Before  his  time  all  cooking  was  done  over  an  open 
wood  fire.  In  the  "  Life  of  Count  Rumford,"  by  Ellis,  page  240,  we  find 
the  following :  "  The  Roaster,  if  not  the  first,  was  the  most  simple,  in- 
genious, and  effective  apparatus  of  the  kind  which,  by  its  arrangement  of 
flues  for  conveying  hot  air  around  the  food  in  the  oven  as  well  as  by  econ- 
omizing fuel,  allowed  of  the  preparation  of  many  articles  by  one  fire,  and 
greatly  facilitated  the  labors  and  added  to  the  comfort  of  the  cook. 
They  were  especially  popular  in  Salem,  where  many  of  the  flourishing 
citizens  had  occasion  to  recall  over  their  dinners  the  '  apprentice  boy  in 
Mr.  Appleton's  shop.' " 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       121 

Derby ;  met  company  from  Boston,  —  two  beaux,  Mr. 
Lee  and  Mr.  Davis.  Monday  —  a  party  of  young  ladies 
at  Mrs.  Grey's  ;  danced  in  the  evening,  went  home  at 
eleven,  spent  half  an  hour  at  Hasket  Derby's  on  my 
way ;  Ellen  was  there.  Tuesday  —  rode  out  with  Mrs. 
Grey  after  dinner,  returned  and  drank  tea  with  Mrs. 
Lambert,  found  company  at  Ellen's  on  my  return  —  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hasket  Derby,  Hersey  Derby  and  wife,  Mr. 
Prince  and  wife,  —  Patty  Derby  that  was  —  looks  like  old 
Madame  Milliken1  very  much.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hasket 
Derby  wish  me  to  go  to  the  Springs  with  them ;  know 
not  what  to  do.  Ellen  says  go  by  all  means,  never  will 
have  such  another  opportunity  ;  she  thinks  my  Father 
and  Mother  would  not  object  if  I  had  time  to  write 
them,  which  would  be  impossible,  they  go  to-morrow  — 
what  shall  I  do  ?  I  must  go  over  after  breakfast,  I  will 
consult  Mrs.  J.  Derby.  I  would  not  go  for  the  world  if 
I' thought  my  Father  or  Mother  would  not  be  pleased. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby  go  alone  in  their  carriage.  I  must 
think  of  it. 

1  Mme.  Milliken,  probably  the  daughter  of  John  Ayer.     She  was  the 
wife  of  John  Milliken  of  Boston. 


122       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Wednesday,  Salem,  July,  1802. 

What  will  you  say,  my  Dear  Mother,  when  you  find  I 
am  gone  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hasket  Derby  to  the  Sara- 
toga Springs  ?  But  I  hasten  to  explain  all.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Derby  were  going  in  their  carriage  alone.  Mrs. 
Derby  says  she  never  travelled  without  some  lady,  and 
urged  my  accompanying  her.  I  thought  'twas  only  a 
compliment  and  treated  it  as  such,  but  when  I  found  she 
seriously  wished  it  and  her  husband  joined  his  influence, 
I  began  to  think  how  it  would  do.  I  consulted  Ellen 
and  Mr.  Derby,  and  they  both  thought  I  ought  not  to 
refuse  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  country  which  per- 
haps may  never  again  occur  —  a  better  one  surely  can 
never  occur.  To  go  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby  is  surely 
an  advantage  I  can  never  hope  to  meet  with  again.  Be- 
lieve me,  nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  think  of 
going  with  them  unless  they  had  been  very  urgent. 
Ellen  and  Mr.  Derby  both  say  they  doubt  not  you  would 
approve  the  plan  if  you  were  here  to  consult.  If  I  did 
not  think  so  myself  nothing  would  induce  me  to  go  — 
still  I  regret  not  having  it  in  my  power  to  wait  an 
answer  from  you,  but  to-morrow  afternoon  we  must  set 
out.  Ellen  has  lent  me  everything  necessary  for  my 
journey,  —  indeed  I  can  never  repay  her.  She  is  the 
most  generous  being  I  ever  saw.  She  has  nothing  in 
the  house  but  is  at  my  service,  —  all  her  handsome 
dresses  she  wishes  me  to  carry,  indeed  everything  that 
I  can  possibly  want  she  has  supplied  me  with.  I  am 
glad  that  I  shall  not  be  compelled  to  purchase  anything 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        123 

that  would  be  unnecessary  after  my  return.  I  think  I 
shall  borrow  some  money  of  her,  as  it  is  impossible  I 
can  receive  any  from  home,  and  if  I  do  not  need  it,  I 
need  not  spend  it.  You  may  assure  yourself  I  shall  re- 
member to  economise  as  much  as  possible.  It  seems  as 
if  Ellen  and  Mrs.  Derby  tried  which  should  most  oblige 
me.  As  I  never  determined  to  go  till  this  morning, 
Mrs.  Derby  said  'twas  impossible  to  make  any  new 
clothes,  nay  unnecessary,  and  insisted  I  should  take  any 
thing  of  hers  I  should  want,  but  Ellen  would  not  admit 
of  that.  I  know  not  the  route  we  shall  take,  but  Mrs. 
Derby  says  we  shall  probably  go  or  return  thro'  Leices- 
ter.1 I  shall  be  gratified  very  much  at  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  our  relations  there.  Ellen  promises  to  write.  I 
never  was  treated  with  more  attention  in  my  life.  El- 
len heaps  me  with  favors,  and  now  I  have  thought  of 
this  journey,  she  thinks  she  can't  do  enough.  I  intend 
keeping  a  particular  journal  while  I  am  gone,  which  you 
shall  all  peruse  on  my  return.  We  shall  probably  be 
gone  four  or  five  weeks,  as  it  is  two  or  three  hundred 
miles  from  here.  When  you  write  me  direct  your  letters 
to  Salem  and  Mr.  Derby  will  forward  them  as  he  will 
know  where  we  are.  Has  Octavia  returned  ?  tell  her  I 
shall  leave  my  Salem  journal  to  be  sent  to  her  the  first 
opportunity.  If  I  go  thro'  Newport  I  shall  endeavor  to 
find  out  Miss  Crary  and  Miss  Clarke,  and  wish  I  had  a 
letter  from  her. 

And  now,  my  dear  Mother,  assure  me  you  approve  of 

x  Dr.  Southgate's  family  resided  at  Leicester. 


124       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

my  going  and  I  shall  have  nothing  to  trouble  me.  My 
Father,  I  think,  would  not  object  to  it  if  I  could  know 
his  opinion.  Mr.  Grey  (Wm.  Grey)  says  he  is  sure  he 
would  not  disapprove  of  it,  if  he  knew  in  what  good  pro- 
tection I  was.  By-the-bye,  I  have  received  every  at- 
tention from  Mr.  Grey's  family,  and  Mrs.  Grey  is  a 
remarkably  fine  woman.  I  rode  out  with  her  yesterday 
afternoon,  and  she  sent  for  me  to  go  to  Wexham  pond 
with  her  this  afternoon ;  called  to  excuse  myself  and  tell 
her  of  my  projected  journey;  she  regretted  it  as  I  was  to 
have  gone  to  Medford  with  her  the  next  week,  and  she 
had  planned  several  parties  for  me  which  would  be  frus- 
trated ;  but  she  acknowledged  I  was  perfectly  right  to  go, 
and  if  'twas  her  daughter  she  should  be  much  gratified 
at  the  opportunity.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby  say  I  must  tell 
you  they  will  take  good  care  of  me  and  they  shall  take 
the  full  protection  of  me.  Write  me  soon,  or  request 
my  Father  or  Octavia ;  but  pray  if  you  disapprove,  do 
not  tell  me  till  I  return,  'twill  be  too  late  to  alter  or  re- 
tract, and  I  should  be  wretched  if  I  thought  you  disap- 
proved my  going,  —  do  write,  or  ask  my  Father,  I  shall 
feel  uneasy.  My  love  to  all  friends,  and  believe  me,  with 
great  affection,  Your  Eliza. 


Francestown  (New  Hampshire), 
July  26,  1802. 

My  dear  Father : 

My  letter  in  which  I  informed  you  of  my  intended 
journey,  my  motives  for  it,  etc.,  you  will  receive  before 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       125 

this,  I  therefore  think  it  unnecessary  to  say  any  more, 
but  rest  with  full  confidence  on  the  indulgent  heart  of 
an  affectionate  Father,  who  I  trust  knows  my  heart  too 
well  to  think  me  capable  of  acting  in  opposition  to  what 
I  know  to  be  his  wishes.  We  left  Salem  on  Thursday 
evening  and  slept  at  Ten  hills  in  Charleston,  break- 
fasted in  Webrion,1  and  dined  in  Betavia.2  We  had  a 
fine  view  of  the  celebrated  Middlesex  canal,  which  in 
future  ages  must  do  honor  to  our  country,  —  such  mon- 
uments of  industry  and  perseverance  raise  our  opinion 
of  our  countrymen ;  it  will  be  25  miles  in  length  when 
completed,  running  from  Deckel 3  to  Medford  river,  — 
the  river  of  Concord  supplies  it  with  water,  boats  pass 
every  day,  and  parties  of  pleasure  are  always  sailing  on 
it.  In  my  journal  I  have  been  more  particular,  here  I 
say  but  little  as  we  are  in  a  miserable  tavern  and  the 
horses  almost  ready.  I  cannot  tell  you  the  route  we  are 
going,  —  Mr.  Derby's  motive  is  to  see  the  most  pleasant 
part  of  the  country  that  he  has  not  seen  before.  From 
Bilusia  we  came  through  Chelmsford,  Inigsborough 
where  old  Irving  lived  and  Miss  Pitts,  now  Mrs.  Brimby, 
the  heiress  of  his  fortune  has  a  most  elegant  tasty  coun- 
try house  on  the  banks  of  the  Merrimack  —  which  forms 
a  most  beautiful  scene  in  front  of  the  house  and  gives  a 
full  view  of  the  river  in  each  direction,  —  more  of  this 
in  my  journal.  We  are  on  a  new  turnpike  road,  from 
Amherst  to  Dartmouth.  We  shall  go  up  to  Dartmouth 
College  as  'tis  wholly  a  jaunt  of  pleasure,  and  Mr.  Derby 

1  Woburn.  2  Billerica.  8  Dracut. 


126       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

is  determined  to  be  in  no  haste,  to  enquire  everything 
worth  seeing  and  not  to  mind  6  or  7  miles  from  a  direct 
road,  —  they  are  very  attentive  to  me  and  have  gone  a 
mile  from  the  direct  road  to  show  me  something  they 
had  seen  before.  Mr.  Derby  has  been  such  a  traveller 
that  he  is  now  one  of  the  most  useful  travelling  compan- 
ions in  the  world ;  his  wife  is  the  most  engaging,  unaf- 
fected, family  woman  in  the  world,  and  instead  of  feel- 
ing myself  a  burden  to  them,  they  make  me  feel  of  the 
utmost  consequence.  We  passed  thro'  several  pretty  vil- 
lages on  coming  here  —  tho'  it  is  almost  a  new  country, 
scarcely  cleared  up,  —  excepting  a  small  village  every  6 
or  7  miles ;  the  most  hilly,  mountainous,  woody  country 
I  ever  was  in,  —  here  as  I  look  round  me  I  see  nothing 
but  enormous  high  hills,  covered  with  trees  and  almost 
mingling  with  the  clouds.  One  of  them  in  particular  — 
Francestown  *  is  about  12  miles  from  Amherst,  a  num- 
ber of  pleasant  houses  and  a  very  elegant  meeting- 
house,—  how  different  from  our  part  of  the  country!  — 
here,  if  there  is  but  one  handsome  house  in  town  there 
will  be  a  meeting  house.  I  have  passed  but  one  on  my 
journey,  in  these  new  back  places,  but  what  was  painted 
and  a  steeple !  From  Dartmouth  we  go  down  to 
Northampton  and  then  to  Lebanon  Springs,  then  to 
Ballstown  and  Saratoga,  and  return  by  the  way  of  New 
Haven,  Hartford,  etc.  I  shall  have  a  fine  opportunity 
of  seeing  the  country  on  Connecticut  River.  Mr. 
Derby  does  not  know  the  route  he  shall  go,  but  shall 

1  Francestown,  named  so  after  Gov.  Wentworth's  wife. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,        127 

depend  on  what  he  hears ;  we  shall  go  thro'  a  part  of 
the  States  of  Vermont,  Connecticut,  and  New  York,  so 
that  in  our  tour  we  shall  be  in  5  different  States.  I 
shall  write  very  often,  and  wish  you,  my  Dear  Father,  to 
write  me  by  the  return  of  the  mail,  and  direct  to  Pitts- 
field  in  Massachusetts,  —  or  to  Mr.  John  Derby  in  Sa- 
lem. If  we  go  thro'  Leicester  I  shall  find  out  our  rela- 
tions. Tell  Octavia  and  Horatio  I  shall  write  them 
soon,  but  as  I  keep  a  particular  journal  which  they  shall 
all  see,  'tis  not  so  material.  I  hear  the  carriage  —  love 
to  all.  Eliza. 


Ballston  Springs,  August  22,  1802. 

My  Dearest  Mother : 

I  feel  at  this  moment  as  if  I  could  fly  !  so  far  from 
home,  received  no  letters,  yet  at  Albany  I  expect  to 
find  them,  let  me  at  least  hope  what  'twill  delight  me  so 
much  to  realize.  I  sometimes  almost  fear  to  receive  a 
letter  from  home,  —  yet  my  indulgent  Parents  will  par- 
don the  liberty  I  took  in  coming  this  journey,  as  I  trust 
they  are  convinced  by  my  past  life,  that  I  would  not  for 
the  universe  act  in  opposition  to  what  I  knew  they  ap- 
proved. I  am  convinced  when  you  know  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Derby  you  will  feel  that  I  was  both  secure  and  honored 
in  their  protection.  I  cannot  tell  you  half  I  owe  them, 
never  in  my  life  was  I  treated  with  more  affectionate 
attention.  They  appear  as  much  interested  in  all  I  do 
as  if  I  were  their  daughter.     You  know  my  heart,  my 


128       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

dearest  Mother,  you  know  it  never  was  insensible  to  the 
smallest  favor,  what  then  must  be  its  sensation  when  it 
is  thus  overpowered  by  affectionate  kindness.  I  long 
to  convince  them  how  much  I  feel,  but  words  are  inade- 
quate. My  Father  has  seen  Mr.  D.,  I  wish  he  would 
write  to  him,  I  think  it  would  be  no  more  than  just  to 
thank  him  for  the  care  he  has  taken  of  his  daughter.  It 
seems  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  expect  something  of  the  kind. 
They  are  the  finest  couple  I  know  of,  so  different  from 
what  I  expected  to  find  them.  I  thought  Mr.  Derby  a 
gay  gallant  man  like  Mr.  Davis,  but  he  is  a  plain,  noble- 
hearted,  sincere,  generous  man,  —  talks  very  little  and 
one  of  the  pleasantest  dispositions  in  the  world.  In 
Mrs.  Derby  I  thought  to  find  a  gay  woman  of  fashion, 
but  not  a  soul  that  ever  knew  her  could  help  loving  her. 
I  never  saw  a  person  so  universally  beloved.  We  have 
been  here  at  Ballston  a  fortnight  to-morrow.  It  has 
been  one  continued  scene  of  idleness  and  dissipation  — 
have  a  ball  every  other  night,  ride,  walk,  stroll  about  the 
piazzas,  dress,  —  indeed  we  do  nothing  that  seems  like 
improvement.  But  still  I  think  there  is  no  place  where 
one  may  study  the  different  characters  and  dispositions 
to  greater  advantage.  You  meet  here  the  most  genteel 
people  from  every  part  of  our  country,  —  ceremony  is 
thrown  off  and  you  are  acquainted  very  soon.  You  may 
select  those  you  please  for  intimates,  and  among  so 
many  you  certainly  will  find  some  agreeable,  amiable 
companions.  For  a  week  we  sat  down  at  the  table  ev- 
ery day  with  60  or  70  persons,  to-day  we  were  all  speak- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       129 

ing  of  the  latter  being  very  thin  because  we  had  only 
40.  There  are  as  many  more  at  the  other  boarding 
house,  continually  going  and  coming,  and  now  there  is 
scarcely  10  persons  here  that  were  here  when  we  came. 
We  went  last  week  to  Lake  George,  about  40  miles  from 
here,  —  made  up  a  party  and  went  on  Tuesday,  break- 
fasted at  Saratoga,  where  the  Springs  formerly  most 
celebrated  were,  and  dined  about  14  miles  this  side  the 
lake,  at  the  most  beautiful  place  I  ever  saw.  Perhaps 
you  have  heard  of  Glens-Falls  ;  they  are  said  to  ex- 
ceed in  beauty  the  Falls  of  Niagara  —  tho'  in  sublimity 
must  fall  far  short.  I  never  imagined  anything  so  pic- 
turesque, sublime  and  beautiful  as  the  scenery  around 
this  enchanting  place.  The  rocks  on  the  shores  have 
exactly  the  appearance  of  elegant,  magnificent  ruins, 
they  are  entirely  of  slate,  and  seem  piled  in  regular 
forms  with  shrubs  and  grass  growing  in  between.  I 
looked  around  me  for  an  hour  and  I  every  moment  dis- 
covered something  new  to  admire,  —  nothing  could  ex- 
ceed the  beautiful  variety  of  the  scenery.  I  left  this 
elegant  place  with  painful  regret.  About  sunset  we 
came  in  view  of  the  Lake,  it  is  a  most  beautiful  sheet  of 
water,  Morse  says  36  miles  long  and  from  one  to  7 
broad,  full  of  beautiful  Islands,  365  in  all  and  of  every 
size  and  shape.  It  is  surrounded  by  very  high  hills  and 
mountains  rising  one  above  the  other  in  majestic  gran- 
deur. In  the  morning  we  went  out  to  fish,  sailed  about 
4  miles  on  the  lake  to  a  little  Island  where  we  went  on 
shore,  —  nothing  could  exceed  the  beautiful  grandeur  of 


130       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

the  prospect ;  we  anchored  off,  —  I  found  it  very  charm- 
ing fishing,  the  water  so  perfectly  transparent  that  we 
could  see  the  fish  swimming  around  the  dock.  Our 
first  intention  was  to  sail  down  the  lake  to  Lake  Cham- 
plain  and  visit  the  ruins  of  the  fortifications  at  Ticonde- 
roga,  but  some  of  our  party  dissuaded  us  from  it.  We 
saw  the  ruins  of  Fort  George  and  the  bloody  pond  — 
where  so  many  poor  wretches  were  thrown.  We  stopt 
on  our  return  at  the  field  where  Burgoyne  surrendered 
his  army ;  it  is  now  covered  with  corn  and  nothing  to 
distinguish  it  from  the  surrounding  fields  ;  we  returned 
by  a  different  route,  for  10  miles  we  rode  directly  on  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson  river,  nothing  could  be  more  de- 
lightful, our  road  wound  with  the  river  which  was  beau- 
tifully overhung  with  trees ;  we  returned  here  Thursday 
night,  found  them  dancing.  I  joined,  and  the  next 
night  we  had  a  ball  at  the  other  house  ;  there  again  I 
danced  till  12  o'clock  and  the  next  morning  got  up  quite 
sick,  —  to-day  I  am  finely  again  and  have  made  a  reso- 
lution not  to  dance  again  whilst  I  stay  here.  This  all 
think  I  can't  keep,  but  they  shall  see  I  can.  Col.  Boyd 
came  here  last  week  but  went  away  while  we  were  gone 
to  Lake  George  —  to  Canada  I  believe.  He  says  you 
had  not  heard  of  my  coming  when  he  left  Portland,  so 
he  could  tell  me  nothing  new.  We  shall  probably  leave 
here  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  stay  at  Albany  a  few 
days  and  go  to  Lebanon  again,  perhaps  to  Williamston 
Commencement.  We  are  engaged  to  spend  the  day  at 
Mr.  Ransalaers,  the  former  L  Governor,  and  one  at  Mr. 


OF  THK 

"UNIVERSITY 


£f  CALIFOR^ 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        131 

Ransalaers  —  his  brother,  who  is  Mayor  of  the  City.  I 
know  not  how  long  'twill  be  before  we  return  to  Salem, 
but  I  really  begin  to  think  of  home  with  a  great  deal  of 
anxiety.  Tell  Octavia  I  never  go  into  the  Ball  room  to 
dance  without  wishing  for  her ;  how  delighted  should  I 
be  if  Horatio  and  Octavia  were  here  with  me !  How 
charming  will  it  be  when  I  get  home  again !  Believe 
me,  my  Dear  Mother,  I  shall  love  home  more  than  ever. 
I  long  to  sit  me  down  by  the  instrument  some  evening 
after  the  business  of  the  day  is  over,  with  you,  my 
Father,  and  all  round  me,  or  to  hear  Octavia  sing  and 
play.  This  scene  of  dissipation  may  please  for  a  while 
by  its  novelty,  but  it  soon  satiates  —  no  regular  employ- 
ment, I  have  never  been  in  the  habit  of  spending  my 
time  in  idleness  ;  and  they  say  here  that  the  Southern  la- 
dies seem  more  at  home  here  than  the  Northern  ladies 
and  do  not  appear  to  think  industry  necessary  to  happi- 
ness. I  hope  to  find  many  letters  at  Albany.  I  have 
kept  a  regular  journal  which  will  assist  my  memory  in 
relating  my  adventures,  when  I  return  home  again.  I 
wrote  Horatio  last  week  and  told  him  to  send  the  letter 
home  for  you  to  read.  I  look  forward  to  returning  with 
the  greatest  pleasure.  I  suppose  you  are  fixed  upon  a 
house  and  will  move  by  the  time  I  return,  let  me  know 
as  I  am  anxious  to  hear  about  it.  Give  my  best  love  to 
all  my  friends  and  tell  Octavia  I  have  more  to  say  to 
her  than  I  can  gabble  in  a  month.  Oh  I  long  to  get 
home  again.  I  find  no  time  to  write,  if  I  lock  myself  in 
my  chamber  I  have  so  many  knocks  at  the  door  —  Miss 


132       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Southgate  go  and  walk —  go  down  to  the  spring —  some- 
body wants  you  below,  —  so  many  interruptions,  'tis  al- 
most impossible.  After  I  retire  for  the  night  I  am  so 
tired  and  sleepy  and  my  chamber  is  so  hot,  I  cannot 
write ;  'tis  Sunday  to-day  (tho'  all  days  are  alike  here) 
and  I  have  determined  I  would  write  home.  I  wonder 
how  it  was  possible  for  Martha  to  write  so  much,  —  I 
hear  of  her  from  all  the  Southern  people,  they  all  speak 
in  raptures.  Give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Coffin  and  kiss  all 
the  children  —  Mamy  particularly,  what  would  I  give  to 
hear  her  open  my  door  and  run  in  this  moment.  Mrs. 
Derby  says  I  get  low-spirited  when  I  write  home,  the 
only  way  is  to  think  as  little  of  it  as  possible  whilst  I  am 
so  far  off.  I  shall  write  again  from  Albany,  where  I 
hope  to  find  letters. 

Ever  your  affectionate  Eliza. 

To  the  care  of  Robert  Southgate, 
Scarborough, 

(District  of  Maine.) 

Albany,  August  8,  1802. 

Thus  far,  my  dear  Ellen,  have  we  proceeded  without 
any  thing  to  mortify  or  disappoint  us  ;  I  wrote  you  the 
night  I  arrived  at  Lebanon,  the  next  morning  the  bell 
rang  and  we  all  assembled  to  breakfast ;  there  were  about 
thirty  ladies,  much  dressed,  looking  very  handsome,  it 
seemed  more  like  a  ball  room  than  a  breakfasting  room. 
We  were  the  last  that  came  in,  and  all  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  us.     Lady  Nesbert  and  the  Allston  family  from 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,       133 

Carolina  were  opposite.  This  daughter  of  Col.  Burr  is 
a  little,  smart  -  looking  woman,  very  learned  they  say, 
understands  the  dead  languages  —  not  pedantic,  rather 
reserved  —  Lady  Nesbert,1  a  most  interesting  woman, 
full  black  eyes  with  a  wild  melancholy  expression  and  a 
voice  so  sweet  and  plaintive,  you  would  think  it  melan- 
choly music.  I  never  heard  her  speak  a  dozen  times 
since  I  have  been  here  and  rarely  ever  smile.  Old  Mrs. 
Allston,  the  mother,  is  a  sour-looking  woman,  nothing 
affable  or  condescending.  Miss  Allston,  they  say,  is 
a  romp,  though  her  mother  restrains  her  so  much  you 
would  not  suspect  it.  Old  Mr.  Allston  2  is  affable  and 
agreeable.  We  had  likewise  there  a  Mr.  Constable  3  of 
N.  Y. ;  has  lived  in  great  style,  —  very  much  the  gentle- 
man. 

Miss from  N.  Y.  whom  I  mentioned  in  my  last 

is  a  truly  fashionable  City  Belle.  She  is  a  fortune,  but 
I  believe  not  of  family.  The  Gentleman  she  calls  her 
father  and  whose  name  she  takes  'tis  said  was  hired  by  a 
British  officer,  her  real  father,  to  marry  the  mother  and 
adopt  the  daughter,  and  a  very  large  sum  was  given  him. 
He  appears  an  abandoned  old  rake,  pale  and  sallow.  Oh  ! 
he  is  a  horrid-looking  object,  in  a  deep  consumption  I 
imagine ;  she  is  very  attentive.     But,    good    heavens  ! 

1  Lady  Nesbert,  wife  of  Sir  John  Nesbert,  celebrated  for  a  race  ridden 
against  John  Randolph  in  17 19. 

2  Joseph  Allston,  of  South  Carolina,  had  married,  February  2,  1801, 
Theodosia  Burr,  only  daughter  of  Aaron  Burr. 

3  This  was  Mr.  William  Constable,  who  married,  February  26, 1810,  Miss 
Mary  Elizabeth  McVickar,  daughter  of  John  McVickar,  Esq. 


134      A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Ellen,  I  had  no  idea  of  a  fashionable  girl  before  —  one 
that  devotes  her  whole  attention  to  fashion.  I  have 
much  to  tell  you  when  I  return,  about  the  Miss  Ashleys' 
french  style  of  dress.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ransselear1  left 
Lebanon  the  day  before  we  did  with  Mr.  and  Miss  Wes- 
telo,2  Mr.  Welsh,3  the  Miss  Stevensons,  and  Miss  Liv- 
ingston the  Albany  Belle, — all  belong  to  Albany.  Mr. 
and  Miss  Westelo,  Miss  Beakman,  and  Mr.  Ransselear, 
who  is  Mayor  of  the  City,  called  last  evening  and  we  all 
went  to  walk — went  into  Miss  Westelo's  and  spent  a 
charming  hour;  all  returned  with  us,  and  we  engaged  to 
go  to  meeting  with  Mr.  and  Miss  Westelo  and  take  tea 
at  the  Mayor's  this  afternoon.  Mr.  Westelo  is  going  to 
Balston  in  company  with  us  and  a  Mr.  Kane 4  of  N.  Y. 
whom  we  met  at  the  Coffee  House  —  very  genteel  man. 
Another  little  lawyer  from  Litchfield,  who  came  in  from 
Lebanon  with  us,  is  likewise,  on  Monday ;  so  we  shall 

1  The  Patroon  Stephen  Van  Rensselaer  had  lately  married  his  second 
wife,  Cornelia  Patterson.  Miss  Southgate  spelt  the  name  as  it  was  then 
usually  pronounced. 

2  Rensselaer  Westerlo  and  his  sister  Catherine  Westerlo,  who  afterwards 
married  Mr.  Woodworth.  Their  mother  was  Catherine  Livingston,  oldest 
daughter  of  Philip,  commonly  known  as  the  "Signer,"  he  having  been  one 
of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  Miss  Livingston  had 
first  married  Stephen  Van  Rensselaer,  Patroon  of  the  Manor,  and  by  him 
had  had  three  children :  Stephen,  who  succeeded  his  father  ;  Philip,  mayor 
of  the  city  of  Albany ;  and  a  daughter.  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  remarried 
Dominie  Westerlo. 

8  Walsh  (?). 

4  Oliver  Kane,  a  merchant  of  New  York.  He  married,  at  Providence, 
Rhode  Island,  May  22,  1803,  Miss  Ann  Eliza  Clarke,  daughter  of  John 
Innes  Clarke. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       135 

have  a  very  pleasant  party.  Mr.  Kane  says  I  shall  meet 
one  of  their  genteelest  N.  Y.  beaux  at  Balston,  Mr. 
Bowne.  I  wonder  if  it  is  the  same  I  have  heard  you  men- 
tion. I  shall  find  out.  About  eleven  o'clock,  or  rather 
twelve,  I  was  surprised  by  some  delightful  music,  a  num- 
ber of  instruments,  and  most  elegantly  playing  "  Rise ! 
Cynthia!  rise!  "  I  jumped  up  and  by  the  light  of  the 
moon  saw  five  gentlemen  under  the  window.  To  Mr. 
Westelo  I  suppose  we  are  indebted.  "  Washington 
March,"  "Blue  Bells  of  Scotland,"  "Taste  Life's  glad 
moments,"  "  Boston  March,"  and  many  other  charming 
tunes  —  played  most  delightfully.  I  have  heard  no 
music  since  I  left  Salem  till  this,  and  I  was  really 
charmed.  The  bell  will  ring  soon  and  I  must  finish  this 
after  meeting.  —  Sunday  afternoon.  The  dinner  was 
brought  on  the  table  just  as  the  bell  rang  for  meeting, 
so  that  we  were  obliged  to  stay  at  home  this  afternoon, 
and  tell  Mr.  Westelo  and  his  sister,  who  called  again  for 
me,  as  Mrs.  Derby  did  not  go  out,  that  I  would  go  to 
Mrs.  Ranselear's  after  meeting.  In  the  morning,  Mr. 
Derby  and  myself  went  to  the  New  Dutch  Church  with 
Mr.  and  Miss  Westelo  and  sat  with  them  next  pew  to  the 
Patroon's,  whom  you  saw  in  Salem  with  his  beautiful  wife. 
After  meeting,  Mr.  Westelo  came  with  the  Patroon 
and  his  wife  to  see  us.  She  is  really  beautiful,  dressed 
very  plain ;  cotton  cambric  morning  gown,  white  sarsnet 
cloak,  hair  plain,  and  black  veil  thrown  carelessly  over 
her  head.  They  urged  our  dining  there  to-morrow,  but 
Mr.  Derby  is  determined  to  set  out  in  the  morning  for 


136       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Balston  —  the  waters,  all  tell  him,  will  be  of  great  service 
—  when  we  return  we  shall  go  and  see  them.  A  great 
number  of  elegant  gentlemen  are  here  in  this  house, 
many  from  N.  Y.,  some  going  to  the  springs.  Your 
Boston  Mr.  Amory  and  Mr.  Lee  would  look  rusty  long 
side  them.  Hush,  not  a  word  !  —  Mr.  Kane  of  N.  Y., 
whose  sister  married  Robert  Morris,  is  here,  will  set  out 
for  the  springs  in  company  with  us,  Mr.  Westelo  and 
some  others.  We  shall  go  to  Lake  George  and  probably 
make  a  party  from  Balston.  Mrs.  Derby  has  insisted  on 
my  wearing  the  sarsnet  dress  to-day  as  we  shall  drink 
tea  at  the  Mayor's,  where  the  Patroon  and  wife  will 
probably  be.  I  am  every  moment  reminded  of  your 
affectionate  kindness,  which  I  hope  never  to  be  insen- 
sible to. 

You  wrote  Mamma,  I  suppose.  I  have  not  received  a 
line  from  anybody ;  shall  depend  on  finding  letters  at 
Pittsfield  or  Lebanon  ;  do  write  me  everything.  I  have 
so  much  to  tell  you  that  I  cannot  write.  Mrs.  Derby,  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  owe  her.  She  treats  me 
with  so  much  affection,  and  she  says  she  believes  Mr. 
Derby  feels  as  much  interest  in  me  as  if  I  were  his  daugh- 
ter—  wishes  everything  I  wear  should  be  becoming,  and 
indeed  they  both  treat  me  with  all  the  attention  and 
affection  my  most  sanguine  expectation  could  desire.  I 
do  not  wish  to  be  treated  with  more  affection ;  think  then, 
dear  Ellen  !  how  sensibly  I  must  feel  it,  how  gratifying 
to  my  feelings.  I  can  never  forget  the  obligation  I  owe 
to  you  and  them.     My  best  love  to  your  husband ;  tell 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        137 

him  when  I  return  I  shall  have  a  whole  world  of  news 
for  him.  I  long  to  hear  from  you,  do  write  soon.  At 
Balston  I  will  write  again.  Many  people  will  be  talking 
about  my  going  this  journey;  many  will  censure  me 
perhaps  ;  if  you,  dear  Ellen,  should  hear  any  of  their  ill- 
natured  remarks  you  could  not  do  me  a  greater  favor 
than  to  vindicate  my  conduct.  I  have  never  for  one  mo- 
ment since  I  left  Salem  regretted  I  came.  The  affec- 
tionate attention  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby  delights  my 
very  heart,  'twas  more  than  I  had  a  right  to  expect.  I 
have  received  much  delight  in  this  tour,  seen  much  ele- 
gant company,  variety  of  character  and  manners.  I  am 
sensible  it  will  be  a  source  of  great  improvement,  as  well 
as  pleasure.  I  shall  have  seen  that  style  and  splendor, 
which  has  so  many  magic  charms  when  viewed  at  a  dis- 
tance, divested  of  its  false  place,  we  find  it  mingled  with 
as  many  pains  as  any  other  situation  in  life,  nay,  more 
poignant  pain.  I  feel  that  I  shall  not  be  at  all  injured 
by  this  life  ;  though  I  enjoy  myself  highly  and  mingle 
with  these  people  with  much  delight,  I  shall  return  happy 
and  content.  Mr.  Derby  is  quite  unwell,  has  taken 
nothing  but  milk  since  we  left  Salem,  his  stomach  re- 
fuses everything  else.  I  have  strong  hopes  that  the 
Balston  waters  will  have  a  good  effect.  Everyone  tells 
him  so.  A  gentleman  just  from  Balston  says  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  company  at  the  Springs,  dance  every  other 
night.  If  the  waters  agree  with  Mr.  Derby  we  shall 
stay  a  week  or  ten  days.  I  have  written  home  a  num- 
ber of  times,  which  together  with  my  journal  take  up  all 


138       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

my  leisure  time,  and  that  is  stolen  from  the  hrs.  devoted 
to  sleep.  I  would  give  anything  for  one  line  from  you 
this  moment.  How  delighted  I  shall  be  when  I  return ! 
Any  news  from  Martha  ?  If  any  letter  arrives  for  me 
send  it  on  to  Pittsfield.  How  charming  it  would  be  if 
we  were  all  together  going  to  the  Springs  !  I  have  not 
time  to  write  anything  about  Albany  fine  society — I 
believe  full  of  Dutch  houses.    Adieu,  love  to  all  friends. 

Mrs.  Eleanor  Coffin.  ELIZA. 


Salem,  September  9,  1802. 
My  Dearest  Mother : 

Once  more  I  am  safe  in  Salem  and  my  first  thoughts 
turn  toward  home.  I  arrived  last  night.  The  atten- 
tion I  have  received  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Derby  has 
been  of  a  kind  that  I  shall  look  forward  with  delight  to 
a  time  when  I  may  be  able  to  return  it  as  I  wish.  I 
am  in  perfect  health  and  spirits  and  have  enjoyed  the 
journey  more  than  I  can  express  to  you.  I  don't  know 
that  I  have  had  an  unpleasant  hour  since  I  have  been 
gone,  and  what  is  still  more  pleasing,  I  look  back  on 
every  scene  without  regret  or  pain.  At  Leicester  I 
went  to  Uncle  Southgate's,  and  Cousin  William  helped 
me  into  the  carriage  when  I  left  the  tavern  the  next 
morning.  We  did  not  return  thro'  North-Hampton, 
and  I  consequently  missed  seeing  Aunt  Dickenson.  I 
regret  it  extremely,  but  Mr.  Derby  was  in  such  haste 
to  return,  that  he  left  us  at  Worcester  and  took  the 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       139 

stage.  I  therefore  could  not  say  a  word  of  Hadley.  I 
found  two  letters  from  Octavia  on  my  return  here  ;  felt 
really  grieved  at  Eliza  Wait's  death  ;  she  must  feel  it 
sensibly  as  they  were  such  intimate  friends,  yet  time 
blunts  the  sharp  pangs  of  affection,  and  when  I  return 
she  will  feel  that  happiness  has  only  fled  for  a  while  to 
make  its  return  more  delightful.  I  have  received  more 
attentions  at  the  Springs  than  in  my  whole  life  before, 
I  know  not  why  it  was,  but  I  went  under  every  ad- 
vantage. Mr.  Derby  is  so  well  known  and  respected, 
and  they  are  such  charming  people  and  treated  me 
with  so  much  affection,  it  could  not  be  otherwise ! 
Among  the  many  gentlemen  I  have  become  acquainted 
and  who  have  been  attentive,  one  I  believe  is  serious. 
I  know  not,  my  dearest  Mother,  how  to  introduce  this 
subject,  yet  as  I  fear  you  may  hear  it  from  others  and 
feel  anxious  for  my  welfare,  I  consider  it  a  duty  to  tell 
you  all.  At  Albany,  on  our  way  to  Ballston,  we  put 
up  at  the  same  house  with  a  Mr.  Bowne  from  New 
York ;  he  went  on  to  the  Springs  the  same  day  we  did, 
and  from  that  time  was  particularly  attentive  to  me ;  he 
was  always  of  our  parties  to  ride,  went  to  Lake  George 
in  company  with  us,  and  came  on  to  Lebanon  when  we 
did,  —  for  4  weeks  I  saw  him  every  day  and  probably 
had  a  better  opportunity  of  knowing  him  than  if  I  had 
seen  him  as  a  common  acquaintance  in  town  for  years. 
I  felt  cautious  of  encouraging  his  attentions,  tho'  I 
did  not  wish  to  discourage  it,  —  there  were  so  many 
New  Yorkers  at  the  Springs  who  knew  him  perfectly 


140       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

that  I  easily  learnt  his  character  and  reputation  ;  he 
is  a  man  of  business,  uniform  in  his  conduct  and  very 
much  respected ;  all  this  we  knew  from  report.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Derby  were  very  much  pleased  with  him, 
but  conducted  towards  me  with  peculiar  delicacy,  left 
me  entirely  to  myself,  as  on  a  subject  of  so  much 
importance  they  scarcely  dared  give  an  opinion.  I 
left  myself  in  a  situation  truly  embarrassing.  At  such 
a  distance  from  all  my  friends,  —  my  Father  and 
Mother  a  perfect  stranger  to  the  person,  —  and  pre- 
possessed in  his  favor  as  much  as  so  short  an  acquaint- 
ance would  sanction,  —  his  conduct  was  such  as  I  shall 
ever  reflect  on  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  —  open,  can- 
did, generous,  and  delicate.  He  is  a  man  in  whom  I 
could  place  the  most  unbounded  confidence,  nothing 
rash  or  impetuous  in  his  disposition,  but  weighs  ma- 
turely every  circumstance ;  he  knew  I  was  not  at  lib- 
erty to  encourage  his  addresses  without  the  approba- 
tion of  my  Parents,  and  appeared  as  solicitous  that  I 
should  act  with  strict  propriety  as  one  of  my  most  dis- 
interested friends.  He  advised  me  like  a  friend  and 
would  not  have  suffered  me  to  do  anything  improper. 
He  only  required  I  would  not  discourage  his  addresses 
till  he  had  an  opportunity  of  making  known  to  my  Par- 
ents his  character  and  wishes  —  this  I  promised  and 
went  so  far  as  to  tell  him  I  approved  him  as  far  as  I 
knew  him,  but  the  decision  must  rest  with  my  Parents, 
their  wishes  were  my  law.  He  insisted  upon  coming 
on  immediately :  that  I  absolutely  refused  to  consent  to. 


Mr     WALTER     BOWNE 
From    a  n.iniature  by  J.  ion  of  W.  B,  Lawrence 


ARroi  vpe 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       141 

But  all  my  persuasion  to  wait  till  winter  had  no  effect ; 
the  first  of  October  he  will  come.  I  could  not  prevent  it 
without  a  positive  refusal ;  this  I  felt  no  disposition  to 
give.  And  now,  my  dearest  Mother,  I  submit  myself 
wholly  to  the  wishes  of  my  Father  and  you,  convinced 
that  my  happiness  is  your  warmest  wish,  and  to  pro- 
mote it  has  ever  been  your  study.  That  I  feel  deeply 
interested  in  Mr.  Bowne  I  candidly  acknowledge,  and 
from  the  knowledge  I  have  of  his  heart  and  character  I 
think  him  better  calculated  to  promote  my  happiness 
than  any  person  I  have  yet  seen  ;  he  is  a  firm,  steady, 
serious  man,  nothing  light  or  trifling  in  his  character, 
and  I  have  every  reason  to  think  he  has  well  weighed 
his  sentiments  towards  me,  —  nothing  rash  or  prema- 
ture. I  have  referred  him  wholly  to  you,  and  you,  my 
dearest  Parents,  must  decide.  Octavia  mentioned  noth- 
ing about  moving,  but  I  am  extremely  anxious  to  know 
how  soon  we  go  into  Portland  and  what  house  we  shall 
have.  Write  me  immediately  on  the  subject,  and  let  me 
know  if  you  approve  my  conduct.  Mr.  Bowne  wishes 
me  to  remain  here  until  he  comes  on  and  then  let  him 
carry  me  home:  this  I  objected  to,  but  will  depend  on 
your  advice.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  stay  a  few  weeks 
longer,  —  Harriet  Howards  expects  me  a  week  in  Cam- 
bridge, Mrs.  Sumner  a  week  in  Boston,  and  Mrs. 
Hasket  Derby  another  week.  I  am  now  with  Ellen  and 
shall  stay  till  Mrs.  Cofhn  comes  up,  then  according  to 
promise  go  to  Mrs.  Lucy  Derby's.  I  feel  extremely 
anxious  to  hear  you  have  moved  into  town,  and  shall 


i42       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

most  probably  be  here  until  then;  write  me  imme- 
diately. If  you  wish  any  furniture,  Mrs.  Sumner  will 
assist  me  in  purchasing  whatever  you  wish.  I  men- 
tioned in  my  letter,  when  I  set  out  on  this  journey  I 
borrowed  15  dollars  of  Ellen;  I  wish  you  to  send  it  to 
me  immediately  after  receiving  this,  if  you  have  not 
already  sent  it.  I  shall  likewise  stand  in  need  of  a  lit- 
tle, as  I  have  unavoidably  incurred  many  expenses  in 
this  journey  which  I  should  not  otherwise  have  done. 
Mr.  Derby  has  loaded  me  with  obligations,  all  my  ex- 
penses he  defrayed  as  if  I  was  his  daughter,  and  in  such 
a  manner  as  endears  him  more  than  I  can  express. 
You  cannot  imagine  how  interested  they  both  are  in 
the  subject  I  have  been  writing  you  upon,  —  my  nearest 
friends  cannot  feel  more,  they  have  witnessed  the  whole 
progress,  and  if  you  knew  them,  would  be  convinced 
they  would  not  have  let  me  act  improperly,  they  both 
approve  my  conduct.  I  wish  my  Father  would  write 
to  Mr.  Derby  and  know  what  he  says  of  Mr.  B.'s  char- 
acter. I  don't  know  but  'tis  a  subject  too  delicate  to 
give  his  opinion,  but  I  can  conceive  that  my  Father 
might  request  it  without  any  impropriety  ;  and  do,  my 
Dear  Mother,  beg  him  to  say  any  thing  in  his  power  to 
convince  him  that  we  all  feel  sensibly  their  great  atten- 
tion to  me.  You  know  not  how  anxious  I  feel  for  my 
Father  to  write  him  something  of  that  kind,  not  that 
they  appear  to  expect  it,  but  on  the  contrary  insist  that 
they  have  been  more  obliged  than  I  have,  and  really 
seem  to  think  so  ;  but  this  rather  strengthens  than  les- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       143 

sens  the  obligation,  nothing  should  have  induced  me  to 
receive  such  from  people  who  felt  they  were  conferring 
favors.  I  long  to  hear  when  we  move  into  Portland, 
do  write  me.  My  best  love  to  Horatio  and  Octavia,  and 
tell  them  I  shall  write  as  soon  as  possible.  I  found  a 
large  packet  of  5  sheets  from  Martha,  dated  Paris,  June 
28th  ;  tells  me  every  thing,  speaks  almost  in  raptures  of 
Buonaparte,  says  Uncle  Rufus  has  a  little  son  1  about 
12  years  old  at  school  there,  one  of  the  finest  boys  she 
ever  saw.  I  find  most  of  the  Southern  people  whom  we 
met  at  the  Springs,  think  Uncle  Rufus  stands  as  good 
a  chance  of  being  President  as  any  one  spoken  of.  I 
have  listened  for  hours  to  his  praises  when  not  one 
knew  how  much  I  was  interested  ;  it  was  known  from 
Mrs.  Derby  I  was  his  niece,  and  it  really  gave  me  great 
consequence.  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Dewitt  and  laughed. 
Judge  Sedgwick  told  me  had  letters  from  him  as  late  as 
June,  and  that  he  was  determined  on  returning  in  the 
Spring.  I  long  to  hear  from  home.  My  love  to  all  my 
friends,  and  believe  me,  with  every  sentiment  of  duty 
and  affection,  Your  daughter  Eliza. 

Martha  sent  me  a  most  elegant  Indispensable,  white 
lutestring  spangled  with  silver,  and  a  beautiful  bracelet 
for  the  arm  made  of  her  hair ;  she  is  too  good  —  to  love 
me  as  she  says,  more  than  ever. 

y  1  James  G.  King. 


144       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Portland,  Nov.  —  Friday,  —  1802. 

Mr.  Davis  is  going  on  to  Boston  and  will  have  a 
letter  for  you.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  Mamma  is 
better.  I  send  you  some  of  Miss  Homer's  wedding 
cake;  married  on  Monday.  You  say  Rufus  Emerson 
has  returned  and  tells  them  a  great  many  stories ;  when 
you  write  next  tell  me  what  he  says,  and  where  he 
heard,  and  all  about  it,  for  everything  interests  me.  Mr. 
Bowne  has  not  arrived,  I  am  out  of  all  patience,  cannot 
imagine  what  detains  him,  —  4  weeks  to-morrow  since 
he  took  Mr.  Codman's  letter.  These  Quakers  are  gov- 
erned by  such  a  slow  spirit — I  wish  the  deuce  had 
them.  I  shall  be  really  uneasy  if  he  don't  come  soon. 
I  want  some  money,  my  last  dollar  I  gave  Horatio  to  buy 
Mamma's  oranges.  I  have  written  to  Mrs.  Derby  to  buy 
me  a  winter  gown  ;  in  her  last  she  says  she  has  bought 
it  but  does  not  mention  the  price.  I  wish  the  money  to 
send  to  her  soon  as  I  hear  ;  a  little  likewise  for  occa- 
sional expenses,  'tis  not  pleasant  to  be  without.  I  have 
been  in  but  one  party  since  Mamma's  sickness ;  shall 
certainly  not  go  out  more  than  I  can  possibly  avoid. 
Mrs.  Derby  is  quite  out  at  Mr.  B.'s  not  coming.  I'll 
not  be  so  ungenerous  as  to  condemn  him  without  giving 
an  opportunity  of  vindicating  himself,  some  circum- 
stances I  know  not  of  may  detain  him.  All  our  friends 
are  well.  Send  me  the  money  as  soon  as  possible  ;  and 
don't  forget  to  tell  particularly  what  Rufus  says,  whom 
he  saw,  what  they  told  him,  and  when  he  heard  all.     In 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        145 

some  cases  trifles  acquire  importance  —  mole  hills  be- 
come mountains.     Adieu.  Eliza. 
Love  to  Mamma,  and  tell  her  I  am  out  of  all  patience. 

Miss  Octavia  Southgate. 

Boston,  May  30,  1803. 

Here  we  are,  my  dear  Octavia,  at  Mrs.  Carter's  Board- 
ing House,  and  tho'  we  have  endeavored  to  keep  our- 
selves as  much  out  of  the  way  as  possible,  a  great  many 
people  have  called  to  pay  their  respects  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bowne.  The  first  person  we  met  driving  thro'  Salem 
was  Mr.  Lee  just  coming  in  town ;  he  bowed  very  low 
and  pass'd.  We  went  to  a  public  house  and  had  not  been 
there  3  minutes  before  Mr.  Lee  came  in  determined  to 
be  the  first  to  call  on  us ;  he  shook  hands  very  cordially, 
congratulated  us,  and  went  with  us  up  to  Ellen's.  We 
promised  to  drive  with  Ellen,  and  went  to  see  Mrs.  H. 
Derby ;  spent  a  charming  hour  and  returned  to  Ellen's, 
dined,  and  all  went  to  Lucy  Derby's  to  tea,  Mr.  Lee  and 
a  dozen  others.  Mr.  Bowne  and  myself  called  on  Mrs. 
Grey,  and  after  a  very  pleasant  day  returned  to  Ellen's 
and  stayed  the  night,  and  the  next  morning,  which  was 
Wednesday,  came  into  Boston,  — 'twas  election  day  and 
all  the  world  was  in  motion.  I  could  not  bear  to  come 
to  Mrs.  Carter's,  but  Mr.  Bowne  thought  he  ought  to. 
Mr.  Lee  got  to  Boston  as  soon  as  we  did  and  came  im- 
mediately to  see  us  and  offer  his  services;  he  has  been 
here  again  this  morning  and  is  going  to  ride  into  the 
country  with  us  to  show  us  some  fine  seats.     Doctor 


146       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Boice,  Mr.  Davis,  Mr.  Cabot,  Charles  Bradbury,  Tom 
Coffin  and  a  dozen  other  gentlemen,  whose  names  I 
have  forgot,  and  who  came  with  the  Miss  Lowells  and 
Miss  Russells.  We  have  prevented  all  invitations  on, 
by  constantly  saying  we  were  going  out  of  town  imme- 
diately. Mr.  Lee  insisted,  when  I  expressed  a  wish  to 
see  Miss  Wyre,  on  letting  her  know  I  was  in  town,  —  he 
went  and  she  came  immediately  back.  I  was  very  glad 
to  see  her  and  she  appeared  so  herself  at  seeing  me. 
Some  ladies  and  gentlemen  came  in;  and  after  they  were 
gone,  Alicia,  Mr.  B.  and  myself  went  a-shopping;  —  the 
fashions  for  bonnets,  Octavia,  are  very  ugly;  Alicia  had 
a  large,  white  glazed  cambric  one  made  without  paste- 
board. But  I  have  not  told  you  how  Gen.  Knox  1  found 
us  out  at  Newburyport.  We  always  kept  by  ourselves, 
but  in  passing  the  entry  Gen'l  Knox,  who  had  just  come 
in  the  stage,  met  Mr.  B.  and  asked  where  he  was  from 
—  (Mr.  Bowne  kept  here  with  Mrs.  Carter  when  Gen'l 
Knox  was  here  last  winter) ;  he  told  him  from  the  East- 
ward. — Alone  ?  —  no.  —  Who  is  with  you  ?  — Mrs.  Bowne. 
So  plump  a  question  he  could  not  evade,  so  the  General 
insisted  on  being  introduced  to  the  bride.     I  was  walk- 

1  General  Henry  Knox  was  a  general  in  the  American  army  during 
the  Revolution.  He  entered  it  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  as  a  captain  of 
the  Boston  Grenadiers.  He  was  the  first  Secretary  of  War  of  the  United 
States.  He  married  the  daughter  of  Secretary  Flucker.  General  and 
Mrs.  Knox  grew  to  be  enormously  stout  and  were  perhaps  the  largest 
couple  in  the  city  of  New  York  at  the  time  when  Washington  was  inau- 
gurated as  first  President  of  the  United  States.  General  Knox's  home 
was  at  Thomaston,  Maine. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       147 

ing  the  room  and  reading,  perfectly  unsuspicious,  when 
the  opening  of  the  door  and  Mr.  Bowne's  voice — "Gen'l 
Knox,  my  love,"  quite  roused  me ;  he  came  up,  took  my 
hand  very  gracefully,  pres't  it  to  his  lips  and  begged  leave 
to  congratulate  me  on  the  event  that  had  lately  taken 
place.  After  a  few  minutes'  conversation  —  "  And 
pray,  sir,"  said  he,  turning  to  Mr.  Bowne  —  "when  did 
this  happy  event  take  place  ?  "  I  felt  my  face  glow,  but 
Mr.  Bowne,  always  delicate  and  collected,  said — "'Tis 
not  a  fortnight  since,  Sir."  The  stage  drove  to  the  door, 
and  after  hoping  to  see  us  at  Mrs.  Carter's  he  took  his 
leave,  and  this  morning  —  (he  was  out  all  day  yesterday) 
—  I  found  him  waiting  in  the  breakfast  room  to  see  me. 
He  introduced  me  to  General  Pinckney  1  and  his  family 
from  Carolina,  —  Gen'l  Pinckney,  they  say,  is  to  be  our 
next  President.  "  Mr.  Bowne"  said  Gen'l  Knox  to  Gen. 
P.,  "  has  done  us  the  honor  to  come  to  the  District  of 
Maine  for  a  bud  to  transplant  in  New  York."  He  was 
very  polite  and  said  "  he  must  find  us  out  in  New  York." 
Only  think,  I  never  thought  of  the  wedding-cake  when  I 
was  at  Salem.  You  would  laugh  to  hear  "  Mrs.  Bowne  " 
and  "  Miss  Southgate  "  all  in  a  breath  —  "  How  do  you 
do,  Miss  Southgate  ?  "  —  "I  beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Bowne? 
and  do  it  on  purpose  I  believe ;  when  I  hear  an  old  ac- 
quaintance call  me  "  Mrs.  Bowne  "  it  really  makes  me 
stare  at  first,  it  sounds  so  very  odd.     Mr.  B.  will  be  in, 

1  General  Pinckney  of  South  Carolina  had  served  in  the  American 
army.  He  had  two  daughters,  one  of  whom  married  Col.  Francis  K. 
Huger. 


148       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

in  a  moment  —  and  if  I  don't  seal  my  letter,  he  will  in- 
sist on  seeing  it,  so  love  to  all.  I  depend  on  finding 
letters  at  New  Haven.  I  have  a  thousand  things  to 
say,  —  (some  ladies  enquire  for  Mrs.  Bowne,  so  says  the 
servant,  — I'll  tell  you  who  they  are  when  I  come  up,) 
—  Mrs.  Bartlett  and  Alicia;  they  insist  on  our  taking  tea 
and  spending  the  evening ;  we  promised  if  we  did  not 
leave  town  after  dinner  that  we  would.  Adieu,  adieu. 
Mr.  Bowne  sends  a  great  deal  of  love. 

Your  affectionate  sister, 

Eliza  Bowne. 


New  Haven,  June  1,  1803. 

Your  letter,  my  dear  Octavia,  was  the  first  thing  to 
welcome  me  on  my  arrival  at  this  City.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe to  you  my  sensations  when  it  came.  I  can  rarely 
think  of  home  without  more  pain  than  pleasure,  and  yet 
if  there  is  a  being  on  earth  perfectly  blest  'tis  your  sister 
Eliza.  How  infinitely  more  happy  than  when  I  left  you. 
You  cannot  imagine  how  delightful  has  been  our  journey. 
We  have  stop't  at  every  pleasant  place,  enjoyed  all  the 
beauties  of  the  Spring  in  the  richest  and  most  luxuriant 
country  I  ever  saw.  I  wrote  you  last  from  Boston.  — 
The  afternoon  following  Mr.  Lee  called  to  accompany  us 
a  few  miles  out  of  town  ;  he  had  requested  Mr.  Lyman's 
permission  to  go  out  to  his  seat  in  Waltham  that  Mr. 
Bowne  and  myself  might  have  an  opportunity  to  see  it, 
as  it  is  the  most  beautiful  place  round  Boston.     We  set 


.■■■■* 


OF  THB 

UNIVERSITY 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       149 

out  about  4  o'clock  —  had  a  most  charming  ride.  Mr. 
Lee  was  remarkably  sociable,  attentive  and  polite,  both 
to  Mr.  Bowne  and  myself.  He  talks  just  as  sociably, 
and  called  me  "Miss  Southgate  "  and  "Mrs.  B."  all  in  a 
breath  as  fast  as  he  could  talk.  I  have  no  time  to  tell 
you  of  this  elegant  place  of  Mr.  Lyman's,  great  taste  in 
laying  out  the  grounds.  It  surpasses  everything  of  the 
kind  I  ever  saw;  beautiful  serpentine  river  or  brook 
thickly  planted  with  trees,  and  elegant  swans  swimming 
about  —  you  can't  imagine  —  'twas  almost  like  enchant- 
ment. After  Mr.  Lee  had  gathered  me  a  bouquet  large 
enough  to  supply  a  ballroom  —  of  the  most  elegant  and 
rare  flowers,  —  full  blown  roses  —  buds  —  everything 
beautiful,  we  jumped  into  the  carriage,  he  shook  us  cor- 
dially by  the  hand,  wished  us  every  happiness,  and  hoped 
to  see  us  in  New  York  ere  long.  Sunday  morning  we 
got  to  Springfield,  stayed  the  day,  it  recalled  so  many 
pleasing  sensations.  When  we  parted  there  —  how 
different  were  our  feelings  —  our  happiness  was  aug- 
mented by  the  contrast.  From  Springfield  to  Hartford 
was  charming  ;  much  pleased  with  Hartford,  stayed  a 
day  and  night  there.  From  Hartford  to  New  Haven 
is  the  most  elegant  ride  you  can  possibly  imagine,  —  a 
fine  turnpike  about  30  miles,  and  such  a  picturesque, 
rich,  luxuriant  country,  such  variety  and  beauty  —  oh 
'twas  charming  !  Mr.  Bowne  is  waiting  for  me  this  full 
hour  to  walk  in  the  Mall,  —  What  shall  I  do,  he  hurries 
so  ?  Well,  I  never  saw  a  place  so  charming  as  New 
Haven ;  we  have  been  all  over  it,  —  visited  the  College, 


150       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

everything,  and  I  give  it  the  preference  to  any  place  I 
know  of  —  a  particular  description  I  defer.  I  have  no 
time  to  say  a  word  of  your  letter ;  write  me  immediately 
on  receiving  this  to  New  York,  where  we  shall  be  on 
Saturday.  Mr.  Bowne's  best  love  with  mine  to  all  the 
family.  Adieu  —  I  have  ten  thousand  things  more  to 
say  but  can't.     Write  me  immediately. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

Eliza  Bowne. 


New  York,  June  6,  1803. 

I  sit  down  to  catch  a  moment  to  tell  you  all  I  have  to 
before  another  interruption.  I  have  so  much  to  say, 
where  shall  I  begin — my  head  is  most  turned,  and  yet 
I  am  very  happy;  I  am  enraptured  with  New  York.  You 
cannot  imagine  anything  half  so  beautiful  as  Broadway, 
and  I  am  sure  you  would  say  I  was  more  romantic  than 
ever  if  I  should  attempt  to  describe  the  Battery,  —  the 
elegant  water  prospect,  —  you  can  have  no  idea  how  re- 
freshing in  a  warm  evening.  The  gardens  we  have  not 
yet  visited ;  indeed  we  have  so  many  delightful  things 
'twill  take  me  forever;  and  my  husband  declares  he 
takes  as  much  pleasure  in  showing  them  to  me  as  I  do 
in  seeing  them  ;  you  would  believe  it  if  you  saw  him. 
Did  I  tell  you  anything  of  Brother  John  ?  handsome 
young  man,  great  literary  taste ;  he  is  one  of  the  family ; 
nothing  of  the  appearance  of  a  Quaker.  Mrs.  King, 
another  sister,  they  all  say  looks  like  me.     Mrs.  Murray, 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

who  is  very  sick  now,  has  a  daughter,  a  charming,  lively 
girl,  about  19,  and  the  little  witch  introduced  me  in  a 
laughing  way  last  night  to  some  of  her  friends  as  Aunt 
Eliza.  I  protest  against  that ;  her  brother  Robert  17 
years  old  too ;  I  positively  must  declare  off  from  being 
Aunt  to  them.  Caroline  and  I  went  a  shopping  yester- 
day, and  'tis  a  fact  that  the  little  white  satin  quaker  bon- 
nets, cap-crowns,  are  the  most  fashionable  that  are  worn 
—  lined  with  pink  or  blue  or  white  ;  but  I'll  not  have 
one,  for  if  any  of  my  old  acquaintance  should  meet  me 
in  the  street  they  would  laugh,  I  would  if  I  were  them. 
I  mean  to  send  sister  Boyd  a  quaker  cap,  the  first  tasty 
one  I  see ;  Caroline's  are  too  plain,  but  she  has  promised 
to  get  me  a  more  fashionable  pattern.  "Tis  the  fashion. 
I  see  nothing  new  or  pretty,  — large  sheer  muslin  shawls 
put  on  as  Sally  Weeks  wears  hers  are  much  worn,  they 
show  the  form  thro'  and  look  pretty;  silk  nabobs, 
plaided,  colored  and  white,  are  much  worn,  very  short 
waists,  hair  very  plain.  Maria  Denning  has  been  to  see 
me,  I  was  very  happy,  —  several  spring  acquaintance. 
Expect  Eliza  Watts  and  Jane  every  moment,  they  did 
not  know  where  I  was  to  be  found.  Last  night  we  were 
at  the  play  —  "  The  way  to  get  married."  Mr.  Hodgkin- 
son x  in  Tangent  is  inimitable.     Mrs.  Johnson  a  sweet, 

1  Hodgkinson  made  his  first  appearance  in  New  York  as  Vapid.  He 
was  born  in  Manchester,  England,  1767;  his  father  was  an  innkeeper  named 
Meadowcraft.  Young  Meadowcraft  ran  away  from  home,  took  the 
name  of  Hodgkinson,  and  joined  the  stage.  His  wife,  to  whom  he  was 
married  on  his  arrival  in  America,  by  Bishop  Moore,  was  Miss  Brett  of 


152      A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

interesting  actress  in  Julia,  and  Jefferson,1  a  great  comic 
player,  were  all  that  were  particularly  pleasing ;  house 
was  very  thin  so  late  in  the  season.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cod- 
man  2  came  to  see  me.  I  should  have  known  her  in  a 
moment  from  her  resemblance  to  Ellen  and  the  family, 
—  appeared  very  happy  to  see  me,  —  Mr.  Codman  was 
happy,  Mrs.  Codman  would  now  have  somebody  to  call 
her  friend,  etc.,  etc.  Maria  Denning  told  me  Uncle 
Rufus  [King]  was  expected  every  day  ;  we  have  such 
contradictory  accounts,  we  hardly  know  what  to  believe. 
As  to  housekeeping,  we  don't  begin  to  talk  anything 
of  it  yet.  Mr.  Bowne  says  not  till  October,  however 
you  shall  hear  all  our  plans.  I  anticipate  so  much  hap- 
piness ;  I  am  sure  if  any  body  ought  to  I  may.  My 
heart  is  full  sometimes  when  I  think  how  much  more 
blest  I  am  than  most  of  the  world.  At  this  moment 
there  is  not  a  single  circumstance  presents  itself  to  my 
mind  that  I  feel  unpleasant  to  reflect  on:  the  sweet  tran- 
quillity of  my  feelings  —  so  different  from  any  thing  I 
ever  before  felt  —  such  a  confidence  —  my  every  feeling 
reciprocated  and  every  wish  anticipated.  —  I  write  to 

the  Bath  Theatre.  She  died  in  New  York  of  consumption,  September, 
1803.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hodgkinson  received  $100  a  week  for  their  ser- 
vices, which  was  the  highest  amount  yet  paid  to  any  two  performers  in 
America. 

1  This  Joseph  Jefferson  was  the  grandfather  of  the  present  Joseph 
Jefferson. 

2  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Codman.  Mrs.  Codman  was  a  Miss  Coffin. 
William  Codman  had  at  that  time  an  insurance  office  at  No.  28  South 
Street,  New  York. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        153 

you  what  would  appear  singular  to  any  other.  —  You 
can  easily  imagine  my  feelings.  —  I  see  Mr.  B.  now 
where  he  is  universally  known  and  respected,  and  every 
hour  see  some  new  proof  how  much  he  is  honored  and 
esteemed  here;  the  most  gratifying  to  the  heart  you 

/can  imagine,  cannot  but  make  an  impression  on  mine. 
We  talk  of  you  when  we  get  to  housekeeping,  how  de- 
lightful 'twill  be  —  what  a  sweet  domestic  circle  !  —  1 
must  leave  you  ;  Caty  says  —  "  Mrs.  Walter  (for  so  the 
servants  call  me  to  distinguish),  a  gentleman  below 
wishes  to  see  you."  Adieu.  Who  can  this  said  gentle- 
man be  ? 

Mr.  Rodman  was  below,  whom  I  saw  at  the  Springs, 
and  for  these  two  hours  there  has  been  so  many  calling 
I  thought  I  should  never  get  up  to  finish  my  letter. 
Mrs.  Henderson,1  whom  I  mentioned  to  you  as  one  of 
the  most  elegant  women  in  New  York,  and  Maria  Den- 
ning, her  sister,  came  in  soon  after.  Engaged  to  Mrs. 
Henderson's  for  Friday. 

Thursday  Morning  :  —  I  have  been  to  two  of  the 
Gardens,  Columbia,2  near  the  Battery,  a  most  romantic 
beautiful  place ;  'tis  enclosed  in  a  circular  form  and  lit- 
tle rooms  and  boxes  all  around,  with  tables  and  chairs, 
these  full  of  company ;  the  trees  all  interspersed  with 
lamps  twinkling  thro'   the  branches  ;   in  the  centre  a 

1  Mrs.  Henderson  and  Miss  Denning  were  daughters  of  William  Den- 
ning, a  well-known  New  York  merchant. 

2  Columbia  Gardens  were  on  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Prince 
Street. 


154       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

pretty  little  building  with  a  fountain  playing  continually, 
the  rays  of  the  lamps  on  the  drops  of  water  gave  it  a 
cool  sparkling  appearance  that  was  delightful.  This 
little  building,  which  has  a  kind  of  canopy  and  pillars 
all  round  the  garden,  had  festoons  of  colored  lamps 
that  at  a  distance  looked  like  large  brilliant  stars  seen 
thro'  the  branches,  and  placed  all  round  are  marble 
busts,  beautiful  little  figures  of  Diana,  Cupid,  Venus, 
by  the  glimmering  of  the  lamps,  which  are  partly  con- 
cealed by  the  foliage,  give  you  an  idea  of  enchant- 
ment. Here  we  strolled  among  the  trees  and  every 
moment  meet  some  walking  from  the  thick  shade  un- 
expectedly, and  come  upon  us  before  we  heard  a  sound, 
'twas  delightful !  We  passed  a  box  that.  Miss  Watts 
was  in  ;  she  called  us,  and  we  went  in  and  had  a  charm- 
ing, refreshing  glass  of  ice  cream,  which  has  chilled  me 
ever  since.  They  have  a  fine  orchestra  and  have  con- 
certs here  sometimes.  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  more 
charming  than  this  must  be. 

We  went  on  to  the  Battery :  this  is  a  large  promenade 
by  the  shore  of  the  North  River  ;  very  extensive  rows 
and  clusters  of  trees  in  every  part,  and  a  large  walk 
along  the  shore,  almost  over  the  water,  gives  you  such 
a  fresh,  delightful  air,  that  every  evening  in  summer  it 
is  crowded  with  company.  Here  too  they  have  music 
playing  on  the  water  in  boats  of  a  moonlight  night. 
Last  night  we  went  to  a  garden 1  a  little  out  of  town, 

1  Mt.  Vernon  Gardens,  afterwards  called  Contois's  Gardens,  were  on 
the  northwest  corner  of  Broadway  and  Leonard  Street. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       155 

Mount  Vernon  garden,  —  this  too  is  surrounded  by- 
boxes  of  the  same  kind,  with  a  walk  on  top  of  them. 
You  can  see  the  gardens  all  below;  but  'tis  a  summer 
playhouse  —  pit  and  boxes,  stage  and  all,  but  open  on 
top ;  from  this  there  are  doors  opening  into  the  garden, 
which  is  similar  to  Columbia  Garden,  lamps  among  the 
trees,  large  mineral  fountain,  delightful  swings,  two  at 
a  time,  —  I  was  in  raptures  as  you  may  imagine,  and  if 
I  had  not  grown  sober  before  I  came  to  this  wonderful 
place  'twould  have  turned  my  head.  But  I  have  filled 
my  letter  and  not  told  you  half  —  of  the  Park  —  the 
public  buildings, — I  have  so  much  to  tell  you,  and  of 
those  that  have  called  on  me  —  I  have  no  room  to  say- 
half.  Yesterday  Mrs.  Henderson  came  again  to  see  me 
and  brought  two  of  my  Aunt  King's  most  intimate 
friends  to  introduce  —  Mrs.  Delafield  1  and  Miss  Lucy- 
Bull.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Delafield  are  Uncle  and  Aunt's 
very  intimate  friends,  she  is  called  the  most  elegant 
woman  in  New  York.  I  was  delighted  with  her  and 
very  much  gratified  at  Mrs.  Henderson's  attention  in 
coming  again  on  purpose  to  introduce  them,  they  were 
so  attentive,  so  polite,  and  Mrs.  Delafield  said  so  many 
things  of  Aunt  King,  how  delighted  they  would  be  to 


1  Mrs.  Delafield  was  a  Miss  Hallett.  She  married,  December  nth, 
1784,  Mr.  John  Delafield,  an  Englishman,  who  had  arrived  in  New  York 
in  1783.  They  had  twelve  children.  Among  them  were  Major  Joseph 
Delafield,  who  married  Miss  Livingston  ;  Mr.  Rufus  Delafield  married 
Miss  Bard  ;  Dr.  Edward  Delafield  married  Miss  Floyd ;  Henry  Delafield 
married  Miss.Munson. 


156       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

find  me  settled  near  them,  how  much  I  should  love 
them  and  everything  of  the  kind,  that  was  very  gratify- 
ing to  me.  Miss  Denning  has  been  to  see  me  3  or  4 
times ;  several  invitations  to  tea,  but  we  declined  as  our 
family  friends  were  visiting  us  this  week.  This  morn- 
ing we  go  to  make  calls.  I  have  got  a  list  of  names 
that  most  frightens  me.  All  our  brothers  and  sisters 
say  —  "  Why,  Eliza  does  not  seem  at  all  like  a  stranger 
to  us,"  —  indeed  I  feel  as  easy  and  happy  among  them 
as  possible,  which  astonishes  me,  as  I  have  been  so 
unaccustomed  to  Quakers,  but  their  manners  are  so 
affectionate  and  soft,  you  cannot  help  it.  Mrs.  King 
(sister)  is  a  beauty  —  She  would  be  very  handsome  in  a 
different  dress  ;  she  looks  so  much  like  Alicia  Wyer,  you 
would  love  her, — just  such  full  sweet  blue  eyes,  charm- 
ing complexion  and  sweet  expression,  and  her  little 
quaker  cap  gives  her  such  an  innocent,  simple  appear- 
ance, I  imagine  Alicia  with  a  quaker  dress  —  and  you 
will  see  her  exactly.  Adieu.  I  am  expecting  to  hear 
from  you  every  day.  Mr.  Bowne  is  out,  would  send  a 
great  deal  of  love  if  he  were  here.  Kiss  dear  little 
Mary  and  all  the  children.  I  never  go  by  a  toy  shop, 
or  confectionery,  without  longing  to  have  them  here. 
Love  to  all.  Our  best  love  to  my  Father  and  Mother, 
Horatio,  Isabella  and  all.  I  mean  to  write  as  soon  as 
I  am  settled  a  little.     Adieu. 

Miss  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        157 

New  York,  June  18,  1803. 

I  am  just  going  to  set  off  for  Long  Island  and  there- 
fore promise  but  a  short  letter.  I  have  a  mantua  maker 
here  making  you  a  gown  which  I  hope  to  have  finished 
to  send  by  Mrs.  Rodman.  The  fashions  are  remarkably 
plain,  sleeves  much  longer  than  ours,  and  half  hand- 
kerchiefs are  universally  worn.  At  Mrs.  Henderson's 
party  there  was  but  one  lady  except  myself  without  a 
handkerchief,  —  dressed  as  plain  as  possible,  the  most 
fashionable  women  the  plainest.  I  have  got  you  a 
pretty  India  spotted  muslin,  —  'tis  fashionable  here. 
My  husband  sends  a  great  deal  of  love,  says  we  shall 
be  travelling  about  all  Summer,  settle  down  soberly  in 
October,  and  depend  on  seeing  you  as  soon  as  we  are 
at  housekeeping.  Sister  Caroline  has  made  Sister  Boyd 
a  tasty  quaker  cap,  which  I  shall  send  with  the  gown. 
How  could  you  mistake  what  I  said  of  Caroline  so 
much  ?  Far  from  being  "  stiff  and  rigid"  she  is  most 
affectionate,  attentive  and  obliging,  —  nothing  was  more 
foreign  to  my  thoughts,  and  you  must  have  taken  your 
idea  from  what  I  said  of  her  dress,  which,  you  may 
depend  upon  it,  with  quakers  is  no  criterion  to  judge 
by.  I  never  was  more  disappointed  in  my  life  —  to  find 
such  a  stiff,  forbidding  external  covered  so  much  affabil- 
ity and  sweetness. 

You  must  give  my  love  to  Miranda.  I  wish  I  had 
time  to  write  to  her,  Horatio,  my  Mother  and  all,  but  I 
expect  the  carriage   every  moment.     Tell   Horatio   he 


158       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

must  write  to  me.  At  present  my  letters  to  you  must 
answer  for  all,  till  I  am  more  settled.  Mrs.  Codman 
has  promised  to  call  at  our  house  and  tell  you  all  about 
me.  Malbone1  has  just  finished  my  picture;  I  have 
done  sitting ;  he  was  not  willing  I  should  see  it,  as  'tis 
unfinished.  When  you  return  'twill  be  done,  then  I'll 
tell  you  whether  'tis  like.  I  have  told  you  in  a  former 
letter  we  shall  go  to  Bethlehem,  Philadelphia,  and  per- 
haps to  the  Springs.  My  trunk  arrived  safe.  I  shall 
send  a  little  ring  to  Cousin  Mary  Porter ;  'tis  not  the 
kind  I  wanted,  but  I  had  not  time  to  have  one  made  to 
send  by  Mrs.  C.  Is  mine  with  sister  Mary's  hair  done  ? 
Send  it  to  her  by  the  first  opportunity.  Adieu.  Best 
love  to  all  friends,  and  all  the  children.  Tell  mamma 
I  mean  to  write  her  as  soon  as  I  have  leisure,  that  I  am 
very,  very  happy,  that  Uncle  Rufus  has  not  arrived,  tho' 
every  day  expected,  and  that  I  look  to  the  time  when 
we  shall  see  her  and  my  Father  in  New  York.  Mr. 
Bowne  and  myself  both  will  be  delighted.  Give  my 
best  love  to  Lucia,2  Zilpah  and  John,  and  ask  the  latter 

1  Malbone,  a  celebrated  miniature  painter.  He  was  born  at  Newport, 
Rhode  Island,  and  when  very  young  showed  great  taste  for  painting.  He 
travelled  about  the  then  known  portions  of  the  United  States,  painting 
portraits  of  people  in  Charleston,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  New  York,  etc., 
many  of  which  are  now  in  existence.  His  price  for  painting  a  head 
was  $50.  He  died  of  consumption  in  Savannah,  May  7,  1807,  in  the 
thirty-second  year  of  his  age. 

2  Lucia,  Zilpah,  and  John  were  the  children  of  Genl.  Peleg  Wadsworth. 
Zilpah  afterwards  married  Stephen  Longfellow,  and  was  the  mother  of 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.  Genl.  Wadsworth  lived  at  Hiram,  on  the 
Saco  River. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        159 

if  he  has  discovered  on  whom  my  mantle  rested.  Tell 
Zilpah  we  pass  her  friend  Mrs.  Bogert's  house  every 
day,  and  never  without  thinking  of  her.  The  City  air 
has  not  stolen  my  country  bloom  yet,  for  every  one  says 
—  "I  need  not  ask  you  how  you  do,  Mrs.  Bowne,  you 
look  in  such  fine  health."  Dr.  Moore  1  would  not  inocu- 
late me  for  the  Small  Pox,  after  examining  my  arm,  as 
he  was  sure  from  what  I  told  him  I  had  had  the  Kine 
Pox  well,  and  he  would  insure  me  against  the  Small 
Pox.  But  Mr.  Bowne  seems  to  wish  I  should  be  inocu- 
lated, tho'  I  care  nothing  about  it  now.  Adieu.  My  best 
love  to  Aunt  Porter  and  Nancy,  Mary  Porter  and  all 
the  other  friends.  We  are  going  to  Flushing  to  see  our 
cousins  before  we  return  ;  you  know  how  Mary  laughed 
about  the  name.  Yesterday  we  were  at  Belvidere,  the 
most  beautiful  place,  the  finest  view  in  the  world,  the 
greatest  variety.  I  never  shall  have  done.  Kiss  dear 
little  Mary ;  I  think  of  her  every  time  I  see  a  sweet 
little  sight.  Your  affectionate  sister 

Eliza  S.  Bowne. 

P.  S.     Remember  and  put  an  S  in  my  name  to  dis- 
tinguish ;  there  are  2  or  3  Eliza  Bownes  in  the  family. 

1  Dr.  William  Moore  was  a  celebrated  physician  of  New  York.  He 
married  Miss  Sarah  Fish  and  had  by  her  a  numerous  family.  Among 
them  being  Nathaniel  Moore,  President  of  Columbia  College,  and  Dr. 
Samuel  Moore,  also  a  favorite  physician. 


160       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

New  York,  June  30,  1803. 

Uncle  Rufus  l  has  just  landed.  The  Hussas  have 
ceased,  the  populace  retired,  and  I  hasten  to  give  you 
the  earliest  information.  Several  thousand  people  were 
on  the  wharf  when  he  landed,  my  Husband  among 
the  number.  As  he  stept  from  the  vessel  they  gave  3 
cheers  and  escorted  him  up  into  Broadway  to  a  Mr. 
Nicholas  Lowe's2  (his  friend) ;  then  three  more  cheers  as 
he  entered  the  door.  He  stood  at  the  door,  bowed,  and 
they  dispersed — all  but  a  dozen  particular  friends,  who 
accompanied  him  into  the  house,  and  Mr.  Bowne  with 
them.  Was  introduced  by  Mr.  Watson,3  and  immedi- 
ately after  Mr.  Henderson4  said,  "  A  niece  of  yours,  Mr. 
King ;  was  lately  married  in  New  York  to  Mr.  Bowne." 
My  Uncle  immediately  came  up  to  him,  shook  hands  a 
second  time,  and  said,  "Miss  Southgate,  I  presume."  — 
He  staid  but  a  few  moments ;  the  acclamations  of  the 
people  had  rather  embarrassed  him  (uncle).  Aunt  King 
had  not  landed.  This  evening  we  are  going  to  see  them. 
Imagine  me  entering,  presented  by  Mrs.  Henderson, 
Miss  Bull,  or  Mrs.  Delafield,  —  all  her  intimate  friends  ; 

1  He  was  returning  from  his  mission  in  London,  where  he  had  been 
Minister  to  the  Court  of  St.  James  from  the  United  States. 

2  Nicholas  Low,  a  merchant  in  New  York.  Among  his  descendants 
are  Mrs.  Eugene  Schuyler  and  the  wife  of  M.  Waddington,  at  present 
ambassador  to  the  Court  of  St.  James  from  France. 

3  Mr.  Watson  was  at  this  time  a  widower  with  one  son,  James  Watson. 
This  son  became  a  great  beau  in  New  York  society,  but  died  unmarried 
and  insane. 

4  William  Henderson,  who  had  married  Sarah  Denning. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        161 

think  what  a  mixture  of  sensations  !  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it.  I  returned  from  Long  Island  this  morning:  delight- 
ful sail,  beautiful  country,  and  pleasant  visit.  Malbone 
has  finished  my  picture,  but  is  unwilling  we  should  have 
it  as  the  likeness  is  not  striking,  —  he  says  not  handsome 
enough —  so  says  Mr.  B.  But  I  think  'tis  in  some  things 
much  flattered.  It  looks  too  serious,  pensive,  soft,  — 
that's  not  my  style  at  all.  But  perhaps  'twill  look  differ- 
ent ;  'twas  not  quite  finished  when  I  saw  it ;  however,  he 
insists  on  taking  it  again  as  soon  as  he  returns  from  the 
Southward,  and  told  Mr.  Bowne,  if  he  mtist  have  one  he 
might  keep  this  till  he  returned  and  he  would  try  again. 
Uncle  Rufus  brings  news  that  war  has  actually  taken 
place,  hostilities  commenced.  The  King  1  on  the  14th 
sent  a  message  to  Parliament  that  he  was  determined 
to  use  every  effort  to  repress  the  overbearing  power  of 
France,  and  hoped  for  their  united  assistance  and  exer- 
tions.—  So  much  for  Father.  — The  whole  City  seems 
alive,  nothing  else  talked  of  but  the  arrival  of  Mr.  King 
and  the  news  of  War.  Adieu.  I'll  write  again  soon. 
Best  love  to  all  the  family. 

We  are  in  expectation  of  great  entertainment  on 
fourth  of  July — Independent  day!  as  they  laugh  at  us 
Yankees  for  calling  it, — the  gardens,  the  Battery,  and 
every  thing  to  be  illuminated,  fire-works,  music,  etc.,  etc. 
Col.  Boyd  called  to  see  me;  and  Mr.  Grelett,  whom  I  was 
introduced  to  in  Boston,  brought  the  handsome  Miss 
Pemberton,  whom  you  have  heard  Col.  B.  speak  of  —  to 

1  George  III  of  England. 


1 62       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

call  on  me  ;  she 's  from  Philadelphia.  I  was  out.  I  hope 
none  of  my  acquaintance  will  come  to  New  York,  pass 
thro',  or  any  thing,  without  finding  me  out.  I  just  begin 
to  make  memorandums  of  tables  and  chairs,  spoons  and 
beds,  and  everything  else  ;  most  turns  my  brain,  so  many 
things  to  think  of  ;  but  I  am  well  and  happy,  and  'tis  a 
pleasant  task.     Adieu. 

Yours  affectionately,  Eliza  S.  Bowne. 

io  o'clock,  evening. 

Just  returned  from  Uncle  Rufus'.  Mr.  B.  introduced 
me  to  Uncle  ;  he  took  my  hand,  introduced  us  to  his 
wife,  and  they  both  seemed  much  pleased  to  see  us. 
Uncle  is  so  easy  and  graceful  and  pleasing,  I  was  de- 
lighted with  him.  Looks  very  like  Mr.  Pai-ker  instead 
of  Mr.  Davis ;  enquired  particularly  after  the  family  ; 
was  surprised  at  my  being  here,  —  said  everything  that 
was  pleasant,  hoped  we  should  be  very  sociable,  etc., 
etc.  ;  and  after  a  pleasant  half-hour  we  returned  home. 
I  broke  the  seal  of  my  letter  to  tell  you ;  'tis  late,  I  can't 
be  particular.  E.  S.  B. 

Miss  Southgate,  Portland. 


New  York,  July  4,  1803. 

Dear  Mother: 

I  have  written  generally  to  Octavia,  but  as  I  meant 
my  letters  for  the  family,  'tis  not  much  matter  to  whom 
they  were  directed.     I  wrote  you  of  Uncle  Rufus'  ar- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       163 

rival  and  our  calling  on  them  the  evening  after.  Sun- 
day they  called  on  us  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lowe,  their 
friends,  with  whom  they  are  staying  till  their  own  house 
is  ready.  They  both  kissed  me  very  affectionately,  said 
everything  that  pleased  me,  and  were  very  solicitous 
that  we  might  get  houses  near  each  other  in  the  winter, 
that  we  might  be  sociable  neighbors.  Uncle  Ruf  us  says 
I  remind  him  of  Martha  very  much  ;  he  inquired  partic- 
ularly after  all  the  family,  and  asked  if  I  did  not  expect 
you  would  come  on  to  see  me,  and  both  appeared  much 
pleased  when  I  assured  them  I  depended  on  seeing  you 
here.  Aunt  King  told  Mr.  Bowne  he  must  bring  me 
to  see  them  very  often,  and  look  upon  her  as  a  Mother. 

July  8. 
My  letter  will  be  an  old  date  before  I  finish  it.  You 
must  have  perceived,  my  Dear  Mother,  from  my  letters, 
that  I  am  much  pleased  with  New  York.  I  was  never 
in  a  place  that  I  should  prefer  as  a  situation  for  life,  and 
nothing  but  the  distance  from  my  friends  can  render  it 
other  than  delightful.  We  have  thus  far  spent  the  sum- 
mer delightfully:  we  have  been  no  very  long  journeys, 
but  been  on  a  number  of  little  excursions  of  20  or  40 
miles  to  see  whatever  is  pleasant  in  the  neighborhood. 
Mr.  Bowne's  friends,  tho'  all  very  plain,  are  very  amia- 
ble and  affectionate,  and  I  receive  every  attention  from 
them  I  wish.  I  have  a  great  many  people  call  on  me, 
and  shall  have  it  in  my  power  to  select  just  such  a 
circle  of  acquaintance  as  suits  my  taste,  —  few  people 
whose   prospects  of  happiness  exceed  mine,   which  I 


1 64      A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

often  think  of  with  grateful  sensations.  Mr.  Bowne's  sit- 
uation  in  life  is  equal  to  my  most  sanguine  expectations, 
and  it  is  a  peculiar  gratification  to  me  to  find  him  so 
much  and  so  universally  esteemed  and  respected.  This 
would  be  ridiculous  from  me  to  any  but  my  Mother,  but  I 
know  it  must  be  pleasing  to  you  to  know  that  I  realize  all 
the  happiness  you  can  wish  me.  I  have  not  a  wish  that 
is  not  gratified  as  soon  as  'tis  known.  We  intend  going 
to  Bethlehem,  Philadelphia,  and  a  watering  place,  simi- 
lar to  the  Springs,  about  30  miles  beyond  Philadelphia  ; 
shall  probably  set  out  the  latter  part  of  this  month.  At 
present  we  have  done  nothing  toward  housekeeping, 
and  Mr.  Bowne  won't  let  me  do  the  least  thing  towards 
it,  lest  I  get  my  mind  engaged  and  not  enjoy  the  pleas- 
ure of  our  journeys.  — 'Tis  very  different  here  from  most 
any  place,  for  there  is  no  article  but  you  can  find  ready 
made  to  your  taste,  excepting  table  linen,  bedding,  etc., 
etc.  One  poor  bed  quilt  is  all  I  have  towards  house- 
keeping, and  been  married  two  months  almost.  I  am 
sadly  off,  to  be  sure.  We  have  not  yet  found  a  house 
that  suits  us.  Mr.  Bowne  don't  like  any  of  his  own,  and 
wishes  to  hire  one  for  the  present  until  he  can  build, 
which  he  intends  doing  next  season  ;  which  I  am  very 
glad  of,  as  I  never  liked  living  in  a  hired  house  and 
changing  about  so  often.  Uncle  and  Aunt  King  want  we 
should  get  near  them  ;  they  have  hired  a  ready  furnished 
house  about  2  miles  out  of  the  city  for  the  summer,  and 
intend  hiring  a  house  in  town  in  the  winter.  I  have 
been  very  busy  with  my  mantua-maker,  as  I  am  having 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,       165 

a  dress  made  to  wear  to  Mrs.  Delafield's  to  dine  on  Sun- 
day ;  they  have  a  most  superb  country  seat  on  Long  Is- 
land, opposite  Hell-Gate;  —  he  is  Uncle  Rufus'  most  in- 
timate friend  and  a  very  intimate  one  of  Mr.  Bowne's. 
We  shall  probably  meet  them  there ;  I  have  not  seen 
them  to  ask.  My  picture  is  done,  but  I  am  disappointed 
in  it.  Malbone  says  he  has  not  done  me  justice,  so  says 
Mr.  Bowne  ;  but  I  think,  tho'  the  features  are  striking,  he 
has  not  caught  the  expression,  particularly  of  the  eyes, 
which  are  excessively  pensive:  would  do  for  Sterne's  Ma- 
ria. The  mouth  laughs  a  little  and  they  all  say  is  good, 
—  all  the  lower  part  of  the  face ;  but  the  eyes  not  the 
thing.  He  wants  me  to  sit  again,  so  does  Mr.  Bowne. 
Malbone  thinks  he  could  do  much  better  in  another 
position.  I  get  so  tired,  I  am  quite  reluctant  about 
sitting  again.  However,  we  intend  showing  it  to  some 
of  our  friends  before  we  determine.  How  do  all  our 
friends  at  Saco  and  Topsham  do?  I  often  think  of 
them,  and  Mr.  Bowne  and  myself  are  talking  of  coming 
to  see  you  next  summer  very  seriously.  How  comes  on 
the  new  house  ?  We  are  to  come  as  soon  as  ever  that 
is  finished.  If  you  choose  to  send  so  far,  I  will  purchase 
any  kind  of  furniture  you  wish,  perhaps  cheaper  and 
better  than  you  can  get  elsewhere.  Adieu.  Remember 
me  to  all  the  children.  Dear  little  Mary,  —  I  can't  help 
crying  sometimes,  with  all  my  pleasures  and  amuse- 
ments ;  'tis  impossible  to  be  at  once  reconciled  to  quit- 
ting all  one's  friends.  I  thought  a  great  deal  of  the 
children.     I  never  thought  I  loved  them  so  much;   I 


1 66       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

never  pass  a  toy-shop  or  confectionery  without  wishing 
them  here.  How  does  Horatio  succeed  in  business,  as 
well  as  he  expected  ?  How  comes  on  Father's  turnpike 
and  diking  ?  Tell  him  I  yesterday  met  a  woman  full 
broke  out  with  the  small-pox ;  I  was  within  a  yard  of  her 
before  I  perceived  it ;  the  first  sensation  was  terror,  and 
I  ran  several  paces  before  I  recollected  myself.  As 
soon  as  I  arrived  in  town  Doctor  Moore  examined  my 
arm,  enquired  the  particulars,  and  refused  to  inoculate 
me  again  ;  that  he  would  venture  to  insure  me  from  the 
small-pox ;  that  he  had  inoculated  hundreds  and  never 
had  one  take  the  small-pox  after  the  kine-pox.  Adieu. 
Your  affectionate  daughter 

Eliza  S.  Bowne. 
P.  S.     All  the  family  desire  to  be  remembered  partic- 
ularly.    Mr.  B.  is  out  to  dine. 

Mrs.  Southgate,  Scarborough,  District  of  Maine. 


New  York,  July  14. 

Friend  Greene  from  Portland  is  here  and  will  dine 
with  us  to-day ;  a  fine  opportunity  for  me  to  write  to  my 
friends.  I  have  quite  a  packet  of  newspapers  which  I 
shall  send  by  him  to  amuse  you ;  they  contain  all  the 
public  amusements  and  shows  in  celebration  of  4th  July. 
The  Procession  passed  our  house  and  was  very  elegant. 
In  the  evening  we  were  at  Davis  Hall  Gardens  ;  the 
entertainment  there  you  will  see  by  the  papers ;  'twas 
supposed  there  were  4,000  people  there ;  tickets  half  a 


4,V;" 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        167 

dollar ;  and  'tis  said  he  made  very  little  money,  so  you 
may  think  what  the  entertainment  was.  Indeed  there  is 
every  day  something  new  and  amusing  to  me.  When- 
ever we  have  nothing  particular  in  view,  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening  we  walk  down  to  the  Battery,  go  into  the 
garden,  sit  half  an  hour,  eat  ice-cream,  drink  lemonade, 
hear  fine  music,  see  a  variety  of  people,  and  return  home 
happy  and  refreshed.  Sunday  we  dined  at  Mr.  Dela- 
field's  near  Hell  Gate,  Long  Island  ;  the  most  superb, 
magnificent  place  I  ever  saw,  situated  directly  on  the 
East  river,  the  finest  view  you  can  imagine.  I  was  de- 
lighted with  our  visit,  so  much  ease,  elegance  and  hos- 
pitality. I  am  very  glad  you  liked  your  gown.  Long 
sleeves  are  very  much  worn,  made  like  mitts  ;  cross- 
wise, only  one  seam  and  that  in  the  back  of  the  arm, 
and  a  half  drawn  sleeve  over  and  a  close,  very  short  one 
up  high,  drawn  up  with  a  cord.  I  have  just  been  hav- 
ing one  made  so.  All  Mrs.  Delafield's  daughters,  even 
to  little  Caroline,  no  older  than  our  Mary,  had  their 
frocks  made  exactly  like  the  gown  I  sent  you,  only  cut 
open  in  the  back,  a  piece  of  bone  each  side  and  eyelet 
holes  laced,  —  long  sleeves  as  I  mentioned  above ;  short 
sleeves  and  open  behind.  I  should  admire  to  be  in 
Portland,  now  all  the  Coffin  family  are  there.  Give  my 
best  love  to  Mrs.  Coffin  and  Ellen  Foster ;  the  others 
will  have  returned.  I  am  astonished  at  what  you  say 
about  my  calling  on  Mrs.  Sumner,  and  what  Mrs. 
Coffin  said.  When  I  got  to  Boston  I  determined  to 
call  nowhere  but  at  Mrs.  Sumner's,  as  my  intimacy  in 


1 68       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

the  family  was  such  and  I  was  fearful  she  might  not 
hear  of  my  being  in  town  and  should  not  see  her ;  ac- 
cordingly the  day  I  got  in  town  we  went  out  purposely 
to  call  there,  and  to  prevent  any  one  calling  on  us  (for  I 
did  not  wish  to  see  much  company)  we  said  we  expected 
to  go  out  of  town  immediately.  However,  there  were 
a  great  many  called  to  see  me  notwithstanding.  In 
Cap  hill  we  met  Mr.  Sumner.  I  introduced  Mr.  Bowne, 
said  we  were  just  going  to  call  on  Mrs.  Sumner,  en- 
quired how  she  did,  etc.,  and  Mr.  Sumner  said  they  were 
just  going  out  to  ride,  but  if  I  would  go  immediately 
with  him  I  could  see  her.  I  was  fearful  of  detaining 
them,  and  thought  I  should  certainly  see  her,  now  she 
knew  I  was  in  town  and  had  set  out  to  call  on  her ;  and 
Mr.  Sumner  particularly  asked  where  we  were  to  be 
found,  —  we  told  him  Mrs.  Carter's,  and  parted.  From 
that  time,  every  time  I  heard  the  bell,  I  supposed  'twas 
Mrs.  Sumner.  We  staid  2  days,  and  neither  Mr.  nor 
Mrs.  Sumner  called.  I  felt  amazingly  hurt,  as  so  many 
ladies  I  was  very  little  acquainted  with  called  on  me 
immediately.  Late  in  the  evening  before  we  left  town, 
Tom  Coffin  called  in,  appeared  rather  formal,  never 
mentioned  Mrs.  Sumner  or  any  reason  why  they  did 
not  call,  nor  any  apology.  As  I  could  no  way  account 
for  such  mysterious  conduct,  it  greatly  mortified  me. 
This  is  the  true  statement,  which  you  may  mention  to 
Mrs.  Coffin,  and  then  ask  her  who  has  a  right  to  feel 
offended.  The  great  dinner  given  in  honor  of  Uncle 
Rufus  I  have  not  yet  mentioned  ;  'twas  very  superb,  and 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        169 

200  of  the  most  respectable  citizens  of  New  York  at- 
tended. Mr.  Bowne  says,  tho'  he  has  been  at  many  en- 
tertainments given  in  honor  of  particular  persons,  yet  he 
never  saw  one  that  was  so  complimentary,  and  never  a 
person  conduct  himself  on  such  an  occasion  with  such 
ease,  elegance,  and  dignity  in  his  life.  He  returned 
quite  in  raptures,  —  such  insinuating  manners  —  such 
ease  in  receiving  those  presented  and  introduced,  —  he 
is  a  most  amazing  favorite  here.  Democrats  and  Fed- 
eralists and  all  parties  attended.  French  Consul  on 
his  right  —  English  Consul  on  his  left.  When  Mr. 
Bowne  went  up,  he  held  out  his  hand  with  all  the  ease 
of  an  old  friend,  without  even  bowing,  and  said,  "  How ! 
is  it  Bowne  ?  How  's  your  wife  ?  "  —  so  familiar.  I  went 
to  see  the  tables :  very  novel  and  elegant  —  there  was 
one  the  whole  length  of  the  Hall  and  4  branches  from 
it ;  there  was  an  enclosure  about  2  feet  wide,  filled  with 
earth,  and  railed  in  with  a  little  white  fence,  and  little 
gates  every  yard  or  two  ran  thro'  the  centre  of  all  the 
tables,  and  on  each  side  were  the  plates  and  dishes.  In 
this  enclosure  there  were  lakes,  and  swans  swimming, 
little  mounds  covered  with  goats  among  little  trees,  — 
some  places  flocks  of  sheep,  some  cows  laying  down, 
beautiful  little  arches  and  arbors  covered  with  green,  — 
figures  of  Apollo,  Ceres,  Flora,  little  white  pyramids 
with  earth  and  sprigs  of  myrtle,  orange,  lemon,  flowers 
in  imitation  of  hothouse  plants,  —  nothing  could  have  a 
more  beautiful  effect  in  the  hot  weather ;  those  opposite 
to  you  were  divided,  their  plates  quite  hidden.     Adieu; 


170       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

some  ladies  have  just  called.  We  are  going  about  20 
miles  to  enjoy  the  sea,  Rockaway,  a  place  of  fashionable 
resort ;  'tis  intensely  hot,  exceeded  only  by  Ballston 
Springs.  We  don't  go  to  Bethlehem  till  the  last  of  the 
month.  Mr.  Bowne's  business  detains  him  in  the  City 
only  one  or  two  days  in  a  week  perhaps,  yet  prevents  a 
long  journey  just  now.  We  ride  out  every  day  or  two, 
go  into  the  baths  whenever  we  please,  they  have  very 
fine  public  ones.  Adieu.  The  ladies  will  think  I  am 
Yankee.     Love  to  all.  Eliza  S.  Bowne. 

Sally  Weeks  remember  me  to  —  and  all  other  friends  ; 
Betsey  Tappan — tell  her  Mr.  Bowne  often  speaks  of 
that  sweet  little  Miss  Tappan.  How  comes  on  Father's 
house,  Octavia  ?  We  both  depend  on  its  being  finished 
next  season.  We  think  very  seriously  of  coming  next 
summer.  Mr.  Bowne  wants  to  go  almost  as  much  as 
myself. 

Love  to  Sister,  hope  she  is  well  again.  Uncle  Rufus 
told  me  Mr.  Boyd  had  been  very  sick,  but  I  did  not 
mention  it,  lest  it  might  alarm  sister.  Adieu.  Love  to 
Zilpah  and  Lucia.  Tell  Zilpah  Mrs.  Bogert  came  to  see 
me  last  week  and  is  in  hopes  she  will  come  on  with  her 
father.  Remember  me  affectionately  to  all  Mrs.  Davis' 
family.  I  sometimes  treat  myself  with  telling  my  Hus- 
band all  about  our  charming  frolics.  Does  not  Mr. 
Davis  talk  anything  of  coming  to  New  York  ?  Louise 
is  quite  a  belle  I  suppose. 

Miss  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,        171 

New  York,  July  23,  1803. 

I  have  sent  a  few  sugar  toys  to  the  children,  which 
you  must  divide,  —  the  cradle  for  Mary,  the  basket  for 
Arixene,  etc.,  etc.,  —  pair  shoes  apiece,  two  little  dogs  I 
put  up  in  the  music  —  one  looks  like  Sancho  ;  a  little 
frock  I  send  as  a  pattern  for  Miranda,  Arixene,  and 
Mary,  long  or  short  sleeves  as  you  please,  whalebone  in 
the  back,  laced.  I  have  sent  another  box  of  things  to 
Isabella's  children  :  the  paper  box  I  mean  for  them  ;  two 
little  fans  for  Arixene  and  Mary,  with  their  names  on 
them,  you'll  find  in  the  bottom  of  the  box.  The  two  songs 
I  sent  you  are  all  I  could  find  that  struck  me  ;  for  the 
"  Death  of  Allen,"  I  never  heard  it,  and  bought  it  be- 
cause it  was  a  composition  of  Floyd's  ;  "The  Wounded 
Hussar  "  I  admired  and  knew  you  could  not  get  it  set 
for  the  Piano,  —  I  don't  know  but  'tis  different  from 
Miss  Sandford's.  I  write  in  great  haste  —  we  are  going 
to  dine  at  Uncle  Rufus'  out  of  town  ;  'tis  past  eleven. 
They  have  a  delightful  place  on  the  North  River ;  took 
tea  there  last  week.  Mr.  Bowne  joins  me  in  love  to 
Father  and  Mother  and  all.  How  comes  on  the  house, 
Octavia?  —  we  want  to  come  very  much  next  Summer. 
Adieu. 

Yours,  E.  S.  B. 

P.  S.  I  have  some  fine  peaches  and  apricots  on  the 
table  before  me  ;  Mr.  Bowne  brings  me  a  pocketful  of 
fruit  every  time  he  comes  home.     I  have  ate  as  many 


172       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

as  I  want  to,  and  have  been  thinking  how  much  I  would 
give  to  get  them  to  you,  but  this  early  fruit  won't  keep 
at  all.  I  was  at  the  theatre  night  before  last  —  at 
Mount  Vernon  Garden ;  Hodgkinson  is  a  fine  fellow. 
We  commence  our  Southern  journey  in  about  10  days. 
Oh,  I  am  sorry  —  Mr.  Bowne  just  came  to  tell  me  the 
vessel  has  sailed  —  well,  I  must  wait  for  another.  Love 
to  Mary  Porter,  and  give  her  the  ring  I  enclose  of  my 
hair;  tell  her  I  long  to  see  her,  and  ask  if  she  means  to 
be  Mary  Porter  when  I  next  come  to  the  Eastward. 
Love  to  all  friends. 

Miss  Octavia  Southgate.  ELIZA   S.   BoWNE. 


Bethlehem,  August  9,  1803. 

I  intended  writing  before  I  left  New  York,  but  was 
so  much  engaged  in  preparing  for  our  journey,  I  had  no 
time.  My  great  wish  to  see  this  famous  Bethlehem  *  is 
at   length    gratified.      You    can    scarcely  imagine  any 

1  Bethlehem.  This  is  a  place  originally  settled  by  a  religious  sect 
called  Moravians.  They  were  famous  for  their  schools,  —  one  for  boys 
kept  by  the  Brothers,  and  a  girls'  school  kept  by  the  Sisters.  Young 
ladies  were  sent  to  Bethlehem  from  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  distant 
parts  of  the  country,  to  receive  their  education  at  this  place.  In  a  letter 
from  John  Adams  to  his  daughter,  dated  Monday,  Feb.  10th,  1823,  he 
speaks  of  it :  "I  have  seen  a  remarkable  institution  for  the  education  of 
young  ladies  at  Bethlehem.  About  120  of  them  live  under  the  same  roof. 
They  sleep  all  together  in  the  same  garret.  I  saw  120  beds  in  two  long 
rows  in  the  same  room.  The  beds  and  bedclothes  were  all  of  excellent 
quality  and  extraordinary  neat.  How  should  you  like  to  live  in  such  a 
nunnery  ? " 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       173 

thing  more  novel  and  delightful  than  every  thing  about 
here,  so  entirely  different  from  any  place  in  New  Eng- 
land. Indeed,  in  travelling  thro'  the  State  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, the  cultivation,  buildings,  and  every  thing  are 
entirely  different  from  ours,  —  highly  cultivated  country, 
looks  like  excellent  farmers.  Barns  twice  as  large  as 
the  houses,  all  built  of  stone  ;  no  white  painted  houses,  as 
in  New  England.  We  crossed  the  famous  Delaware  at 
Easton.  It  separates  New  Jersey  and  Pennsylvania. 
We  saw  some  beautiful  little  towns  in  New  Jersey  like- 
wise, but  in  Pennsylvania  the  villages  look  so  many 
clusters  of  jails,  and  the  public  buildings  like  the  Bas- 
tile,  or,  to  come  nearer  home,  like  the  New  York  State 
prison, — all  of  stone,  so  strong,  heavy,  and  gloomy,  I 
could  not  bear  them ;  the  inhabitants  most  all  Dutch, 
and  such  jargon  as  you  hear  in  every  entry  or  corner 
makes  you  fancy  yourself  in  a  foreign  country.  These 
Bethlehemites  are  all  Germans,  and  retain  many  of  the 
peculiarities  of  their  country  —  such  as  their  great 
fondness  for  music.  It  is  delightful  :  there  is  scarcely 
a  house  in  the  place  without  a  Piano-forte ;  the  Post 
Master  has  an  elegant  grand  Piano.  The  Barber  plays 
on  almost  every  kind  of  music.  Sunday  afternoon  we 
went  to  the  Young  Men's  house  to  hear  some  sacred 
music.  We  went  into  a  hall,  which  was  hung  round 
with  Musical  Instruments,  and  about  20  musicians  of 
the  Brethren  were  playing  in  concert,  —  an  organ,  2  bass 
viols,  4  violins,  two  flutes,  two  French  horns,  two  clar- 
ionets, bassoon,  and  an  Instrument  I  never  heard  before, 


174       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

made  up  the  Band;  they  all  seemed  animated  and  inter- 
ested. It  was  delightful  to  see  these  men,  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  laborious  employments,  all  kinds  of  mechanics, 
and  so  perfect  in  so  refined  an  art  as  music.  One  man 
appeared  to  take  the  lead  and  played  on  several  different 
instruments,  and  to  my  great  astonishment  I  saw  the 
famous  musician  enter  the  breakfast  room  this  morning 
with  the  razor-box  in  his  hand  to  shave  some  of  the 
gentlemen.  Judge  of  my  surprise ;  and  some  one  men- 
tioned he  had  just  been  fixing  a  watch  down -stairs. 
Yesterday,  Daddy  Thomas  (who  is  a  head  one,  and  who 
comes  to  the  tavern  every  few  hours  to  see  if  there  are 
any  strangers  who  wish  to  visit  the  buildings)  conducted 
us  all  round.  We  went  to  the  Schools,  —  first  was  merely 
a  sewing  school,  little  children,  and  a  pretty  single  sister 
about  30,  with  her  white  skirt,  white,  short,  tight  waist- 
coat, nice  handkerchief  pinned  outside,  a  muslin  apron 
and  a  close  cambric  cap,  of  the  most  singular  form  you 
can  imagine.  I  can't  describe  it ;  the  hair  is  all  put  out 
of  sight,  turned  back  before,  and  no  border  to  the  cap, 
very  unbecoming  but  very  singular,  tied  under  the  chin 
with  a  pink  ribbon, — blue  for  the  married,  white  for 
the  widows.  Here  was  a  Piano-forte,  and  another  sister 
teaching  a  little  girl  music.  We  went  thro'  all  the  dif- 
ferent schoolrooms  —  some  misses  of  16,  — their  teach- 
ers were  very  agreeable  and  easy,  and  in  every  room 
was  a  Piano.  I  never  saw  any  embroidery  so  beautiful ; 
Muslin  they  don't  work.  Make  artificial  flowers  very 
handsome,  paper  baskets,  etc.     At  the  single  Sisters' 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       175 

house  we  were  conducted  round  by  a  fine  lady-like 
woman,  who  answered  our  questions  with  great  intelli- 
gence and  affability.  I  think  there  were  130  in  this 
house  ;  their  apartments  were  perfectly  neat,  —  the  Dor- 
mitory or  sleeping-room  is  a  large  room  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  building,  with  "Dormont"  opposite  the 
whole  length.  A  lamp  suspended  in  the  middle  of  the 
ceiling,  which  is  kept  lighted  all  night ;  and  there  were 
40  beds,  in  rows,  only  one  person  in  each,  —  they  were 
of  a  singular  shape,  high  and  covered,  and  struck  me 
like  people  laid  out — dreadful!  the  lamp  and  altogether 
seemed  more  like  a  nunnery  than  any  thing  I  had  seen. 
One  sister  walks  these  sleeping-rooms  once  an  hour 
thro'  the  night.  We  went  to  a  room  where  they  keep 
their  work  for  sale,  —  pocket-books,  pin  balls,  Toilette 
cushions,  baskets,  artificial  flowers,  etc.,  etc.  We 
bought  a  box  full  of  things,  and  left  them  much  pleased 
with  the  neatness  and  order  which  appeared  thro'out. 
The  situation  of  the  place  is  delightful.  The  walks  on 
the  banks  of  the  Lehigh  and  the  mountains  surround- 
ing —  'tis  really  beautiful.  The  widows'  house  and 
young  men's  is  similar  to  the  one  described  ;  there  were 
many  children  at  the  school,  from  Georgia,  Montreal, 
and  many  other  places  as  far.  There  are  some  genteel 
people  from  Georgia  at  the  tavern  where  we  are,  and 
Philadelphia.  We  intended  leaving  here  for  Philadel- 
phia to-day,  but  it  rains.  We  shall  spend  a  few  days 
there  and  go  to  Long  Branch.    If  the  alarm  of  the  fever1 

1  The  yellow  fever  having  broken  out  in  New  York,  the  city  was  de- 
serted by  all  who  could  leave  it.    Even  the  business  was  transacted  in  the 


176       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

continues  in  New  York  we  shall  not  return  there  again, 
but  go  in  the  neighborhood.  Send  in  for  a  trunk,  which 
I  packed  up  for  the  purpose,  in  case  I  feared  going  in 
the  City  —  and  set  off  for  the  Springs  or  somewhere 
else.  'Tis  very  uncertain  when  we  go  to  housekeeping ; 
the  alarm  of  the  Fever  hurried  us  out  of  town  without 
any  arrangement  towards  it,  and  may,  if  it  continues, 
keep  us  out  till  middle  of  Autumn.  But  at  any  rate 
you  must  spend  the  winter  with  us,  we  both  depend  on 
it.  You  can  certainly  find  some  opportunity.  Give 
my  best  love  to  all  friends,  and  expect  to  hear  from  me 
frequently  while  I  am  rambling  about.  My  husband  is 
so  fond  of  roving,  I  don't  know  but  he'll  spoil  me.     We 

neighboring  village  of  Greenwich,  which  is  now  incorporated  in  the  city 
itself  and  its  boundaries  lost  in  the  surrounding  streets.  The  following 
advertisements  have  been  copied  from  the  "  Evening  Post,"  Thursday, 
Aug.  25,  1803,  as  being  of  interest,  as  the  advertisers  were  not  only  well- 
known  New  Yorkers,  but  personal  friends  of  Mrs.  Bowne  :  — 

Woolsey  &  Rogers'  Counting  House  is  removed  to  No.  28  Courtlandt 
Street. 

Removal.  William  Codman  has  removed  his  Counting  House  to  the 
N.  E.  corner  room  in  the  2nd  Story  of  the  City  Hotel,  Broadway. 

John  G.  Bogart,  Attorney  at  law  &  Notary  Public,  has  Removed  his 
office  to  the  House  of  Judge  Livingston,  No.  37  Broadway,  near  the  Cus- 
tom House. 

John  Murray  &  Sons  have  removed  their  Counting  House  to  Mr. 
Murray's  country  seat  on  the  Harlem  Road,  31-2  miles  from  town. 

[This  was  at  Murray  Hill,  about  the  corner  of  37th  Street  and  Fifth. 
Avenue.] 

The  Editor  being  obliged  to  be  absent  from  town  a  few  days,  the  dis- 
cussions respecting  yellow  fever  will,  of  course,  be  suspended  for  a  little 
time. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        177 

both  enjoy  travelling  very  much,  and  surely  it  is  never 
so  delightful  as  in  company  with  those  we  love.  Only 
think,  'tis  just  a  year  to-day  since  we  first  saw  each 
other,  and  here  we  are,  Married,  happy,  and  enjoying 
ourselves  in  Bethlehem.  Memorable  day !  Horatio's 
and  Frederick's  birthday,  too ;  mine  will  soon  be  here. 
I  long  to  see  you  all  more  than  you  can  imagine ;  hope 
to,  next  summer,  and  depend  on  your  spending  the  win- 
ter with  us.     Love  to  Miranda,  when  you  write,  and  tell 

her  I  mean  to  write  myself.     Mr.  B often  talks  of 

her.     Is  Mr.   Boyd1  arrived?     I  want  much  to  hear. 
Love  to  Sister2  and  the  children.     Adieu. 
Affectionately, 

Eliza  S.  Bowne. 

Mrs.  Southgate,  Scarborough. 


Ballston  Springs,  Sept.  4,  1803. 
Once  more  do  I  write  you  from  the  Springs,  where  I 
enjoyed  so  many  delightful  moments  last  year.  We  re- 
call so  many  charming  things  to  our  recollection  by  this 
visit  to  the  Springs  that  'tis  of  all  places  the  most  pleas- 
ant for  us  to  visit.  A  description  of  the  place,  amuse- 
ments, etc.  I  gave  you  last  year  ;  they  are  the  same  now. 
We  arrived  yesterday  morning,  found  the  place  much 
crowded,  and  were  fearful  of  not  getting  good  accommo- 

1  Mr.  Boyd,  Mrs.    Bowne's   brother-in-law,  had  been   in  England  for 
some  months  and  was  now  expected  to  return  to  his  home. 

2  Mrs.  Boyd,  Isabella  Southgate. 


178       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

dations,  but  in  that  respect  were  agreeably  disappointed. 
They  dance  much  as  usual ;  a  fine  ball  to-morrow  even- 
ing. I  wish  you  were  here  to  help  us  dance,  —  a  great 
many  New  Yorkers  have  taken  refuge  here  from  the 
fever.  I  was  quite  sorry  when  I  found  Mr.  Derby  had 
been  here  and  gone  again.  Tell  Louise  the  Bussey  fam- 
ily from  Boston  are  here,  and  Miss  Putnam  appears  as 
much  delighted  with  the  picturesque  steeps  of  Ballston 
as  she  was  with  those  of  Freeport>  and  with  about  as 
much  reason.  We  have  an  abundance  of  queer,  smart 
people  here.  Last  night  at  tea  I  found  myself  seated 
alongside  Beau  Dawson}  "  Nancy  Dawson}'  —  our  envoy 
to  France  —  you  remember !  Gen.  Smith  of  Baltimore 
and  family,  who  it  was  said  would  succeed  Uncle  Ru- 
fus ;  Mr.  Harper  and  wife  —  the  fine  speaker  in  Con- 
gress ;  Herssa  Madame  Somebody  —  French  lady  ;  and 
a  nobleman  from  nobody  knows  where,  and  a  parcel  of 
strange  people,  making  a  variety  that  I  like  once  in  a 
while.  But,  let  me  see,  I  have  hurried  you  along  to  the 
Springs  from  Long  Branch  in  a  much  easier  manner 
than  I  got  here  myself.  Oh  the  tremendous  High- 
lands ! 2     I  thought  to  my  soul  I  should  never  hold  out 

1  Beau  Dawson,  Mr.  J.  Dawson  of  Virginia.  He  had  been  sent  out  by 
President  Jefferson  in  April,  1801,  as  bearer  of  the  Treaty  or  Convention 
between  France  and  the  United  States  as  ratified  by  the  latter.  The 
ship  in  which  he  sailed  was  wrecked  and  the  Treaty  lost,  although  the 
envoy  was  saved.  Another  treaty  was  drawn  up  and  dispatched  as  soon 
as  possible,  but  there  was  great  annoyance  at  the  delay. 

2  Highlands.  The  hills  about  West  Point  on  the  Hudson  are  so 
called.     The  road  from  Peekskill  to  Garrison's    over  the  hill  called 


A  Girts  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       179 

to  get  over  them  —  such  roads !  But  I  lived  over  it, 
tho'  it  made  me  sick  fairly,  with  fatigue.  I  went  to  see 
Maria  Denning,  whose  father's  country  seat,  Beverly,  is 
in  the  midst  of  the  Highlands  —  on  the  North  River, 
directly  opposite  West  Point.  It  does  not  look  much 
like  Louisa's  picture ;  'twould  make  one  of  the  most  sub- 
lime and  beautiful  pictures  imaginable  if  the  objects 
were  selected  with  judgment.  It  rises  with  sublime 
and  picturesque  grandeur  directly  from  the  North  River. 
Who  would  have  thought  of  taking  a  view  of  it  without 
water  ?  —  that  is  the  greatest  beauty  when  united  with 
the  others.  We  got  to  Mr.  Denning's  Saturday  night, 
—  left  the  neighborhood  of  New  York,  Thursday,  — 
where  we  staid  only  one  night,  dined  at  Uncle's,  drank 
tea  at  Sister  Murray's,  and  set  off  that  evening  for  the 
Springs.  The  romantic  and  beautiful  scenery  on  the 
North  River  as  we  rode  up  was  most  charming  to  me. 
I  admire  the  wild  diversity  of  nature  —  here  we  had  it 
in  perfection.  I  am  sure  the  Hudson  wants  nothing  but 
a  Poet  to  celebrate  it.  The  Thames  and  the  Tiber  have 
been  sung  by  Homers  and  Popes,  but  I  don't  believe 
there  can  be  a  greater  variety,  more  sublimity  or  more 
beauty,  than  are  to  be  found  on  the  banks  of  the  Hud- 
son. The  Delaware  did  not  strike  me  at  all  —  I  crossed 
it  several  times.  We  were  in  hopes  Uncle  and  Aunt 
would  come  here  with   us,  but  Uncle  said  he  must  go 

"  Anthony's  Nose  "  is  particularly  steep  and  stony.  The  Beverly  Farm, 
which  was  owned  by  Mr.  William  Denning,  lay  in  the  midst  of  these  hills. 
The  house  is  still  standing  and  is  almost  unaltered. 


180       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

East  if  anywhere,  but  he  wanted  to  be  at  rest  a  few 
months,  now  he  was  settled.  Mrs.  Codman  told  me  she 
saw  you  all ;  we  called  a  moment  to  see  her.  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner has  a  son  too.  Poor  Mrs.  Davis,  how  much  sick- 
ness she  has  !  On  our  return  from  Long  Branch  we 
went  to  Passaic  Falls  with  a  Baltimore  family ;  had  a 
charming  little  jaunt  about  20  miles  from  New  York. 
The  falls  —  the  rocks  —  the  whole  scenery  partakes 
more  of  the  sublime  —  almost  terrific — than  Glens 
Falls,  but  not  so  beautiful.  I  am  much  delighted  to 
hear  of  Mr.  Boyd's  arrival;  Sister  must  be  very  happy. 
Martha  is  coming  this  month ;  the  fever  would  prevent 
her  coming  to  New  York  —  I  am  sorry.  Love  to  Mrs. 
Coffin.  My  mother  is  quite  well,  Mrs.  Codman  tells 
me.  Horatio,  —  Miranda,  there 's  half  a  dozen  wild 
girls  here  that  would  romp  to  beat  her  —  they  are  as 
old  as  you,  but  sad  romps.  We  shall  stay  here  about 
a  week,  then  go  to  Lebanon,  where  I  wish  you  to  direct 
a  letter  to  me  immediately  on  the  receipt  of  this.  I 
want  to  hear  much,  so  does  Mr.  Bowne.  He  teases  me 
to  death  to  write  home  that  we  may  hear  from  you. 
We  depend  on  your  coming  on  this  winter.  When  we 
shall  be  to  housekeeping  Heaven  knows  ;  not  even  a 
napkin  made,  just  getting  a  woman  to  work,  —  fixed  the 
things  already,  when  the  fever  came  and  we  all  left  the 
city  ;  so  here  I  am  — perfectly  unprepared  as  possible. 
Adieu.  Tell  Horatio  he  has  more  time  than  I  have,  he 
ought  to  write  me  immediately  to  Lebanon.  Lebanon 
has   been    quite    deserted.      Poor  Hannah  Hamilton's 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        181 

Mamma  died  three  or  four  weeks  since.  The  servants 
at  the  other  house  where  I  kept  last  summer,  wished 
me  joy, — heard  Miss  Southgate  was  married  to  Mr. 
Bowne.  Oh,  I  have  not  told  you !  —  saw  the  tree  Major 
Andre  was  taken  under,  and  the  house  where  Arnold 
fled  from,  left  his  wife  and  family,  —  indeed,  'tis  the  very 
house  Maria  lives  in.  We  staid  two  nights  there  and 
promised  to  go  and  see  them  on  our  return ;  charming 
place,  such  fruit,  'tis  delicious.  In  the  Jerseys, — don't 
laugh  at  travellers'  stories,  —  but  we  really  rode  over  the 
peaches  in  the  road  ;  we  always  kept  our  case  full,  William 
brought  us  some  off  the  finest  trees  that  hung  over  the 
road.  Peaches  and  cream  !  —  they  laugh  and  say  Bos- 
ton people  cry  out,  "  'tis  so  good  !  "  Well,  what  have  I 
not  wrote  about  ?  A  little  of  everything  but  sentiment ; 
a  dash  of  that  to  complete.  I  am  most  tired  of  jaunting  ; 
the  mind  becomes  satiated  with  variety  and  description 
and  pants  for  a  little  respite  of  domestic  tranquillity. 
I've  done ;  I  have  most  forgot  how  to  write  sentiment. 
I  have  had  no  time  to  think  since  I  was  married.  I 
don't  expect  to,  this  2  or  3  months,  so  good-bye. 

Miss  Octavia  Southgate.  ELIZA   S.    BOWNE. 


Lebanon  Springs,  Sept.  24,  1803. 

Your  letter,  my  dear  Octavia,  has  set  my  head  to  plan- 
ning at  a  great  rate.  By  all  means  come  on  with  Mr. 
Cutts ;  I  am  impatient  to  see  you,  and  I  cannot  give  up 
the  pleasure  of  having  you  with  me  this  winter.     We 


1 82        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

shall  be  at  Housekeeping  as  soon  as  possible  after  the 
fever  subsides.  My  husband  thinks  the  plan  a  very- 
good  one.  I  will  write  immediately  to  Aunt  King,  say 
that  it  is  uncertain  when  you  arrive,  but  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  request  Mr.  Cutts  to  leave  you  with  her 
until  I  demand  you.  This  settled,  I  proceed.  Tell  my 
good  Mother  not  to  be  afraid.  I  am  as  anxious  as  her- 
self to  be  settled  at  home.  I  am  most  tired  of  roving  ; 
it  begins  to  grow  cold,  and  I  long  for  a  comfortable  fire- 
side of  my  own.  What  a  sweet  circle  !  Octavia,  my 
dear  Husband,  and  myself;  when  we  are  alone  we'll 
read,  and  work  like  old  times.  I  have  spent  a  most  de- 
lightful 3  weeks  at  Ballston  and  Lebanon.  We  had  a 
charming  company  at  Ballston,  danced  a  few  nights  after 
I  wrote  you,  and  I  was  complimented  as  Bride  again. — 
Manager  bro't  me  No.  I,  —  quite  time  I  was  out  of  date. 
Lebanon  is  delightful  as  ever ;  we  have  a  small  party, 
ride  to  see  the  Shakers,  walk,  and  play  at  Billiards,  work, 
read,  or  anything.  Tell  Mamma,  Eunice  Loring  that 
was,  is  here,  —  she  talks  a  great  deal  of  my  Mother  and 
Aunt  Porter,  wants  to  see  them  very  much,  etc.,  etc. 
She  is  married  to  a  Mr  Neufville  of  Carolina.  She  is 
much  out  of  health,  talks  of  going  to  England  in  the 
Spring.  She  wants  to  see  you,  as  she  says  my  Mother 
talk'd  of  naming  you  for  her  ;  she  wishes  she  had,  as  she 
has  no  children.  The  box  I  mentioned  was  full  of 
sugar  things,  toys  for  the  children  ;  two  little  fans  —  a 
little  frock  for  a  pattern,  and  another  for  Isabella's  chil- 
dren, The  Children  of  the  Abbey,  and  Caroline  of  Lich- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       183 

field  for  Mamma,  —  all  in  a  package  together  ;  a  letter 
for  Mrs.  Coffin  and  several  others.  When  we  left  New 
York  Mr.  Bowne  sent  it  to  a  Commission  Merchant 
who  does  business  for  several  Portland  people,  and  re- 
quested him  to  send  it  by  the  first  vessel.  As  you 
have  n't  received  it,  I  suppose  the  fever  which  broke 
out  immediately  after  induced  him  to  shut  up  his  store, 
or  perhaps  prevented  any  Portland  vessel  from  coming 
near  the  City,  and  that  it  now  lies  in  his  store.  Write 
me  when  you  set  out,  and  when  'tis  probable  you  will 
be  in  New  York ;  direct  to  New  York,  probably  I  shall 
be  near  New  York  in  a  fortnight.  I  have  but  a  few 
moments  to  write  as  the  stage  passes  the  village  at  n. 
You  alarm  me  about  Ellen  ;  pray  enquire  particularly 
and  tell  me  all ;  go  to  see  yourself,  and  tell  her  I  can 
imagine  no  reason  why  I  have  never  received  a  line 
from  her  since  I  have  been  in  New  York,  — nor  Lucy 
Derby,  neither  Mrs.  Coffin.  I  wrote  to,  but  it  seems 
she  did  not  receive  my  letter ;  love  to  her  and  all 
Portland  friends.  I  am  expecting  every  day  to  hear 
Martha  has  arrived.  My  best  love  to  Sister  Boyd  and 
husband.  I  wrote  a  line  of  congratulation  to  her,  but 
that  too  is  in  the  package.  Adieu.  I  shall  soon  see 
you,  and  then  we  will  talk  what  I  have  not  time  to 
write.     My  husband's  best  love. 

Yours,  Eliza  S.  Bowne. 


1 84       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

New  York,  October  23,  1803. 

I  have  waited  till  my  patience  is  quite  exhausted. 
What  can  have  kept  you  so  long  in  Boston  ?  Mr. 
Bowne  has  been  at  the  Stage  Office  a  dozen  times,  and 
I  have  staid  at  home  every  forenoon  this  week  to  re- 
ceive your  ladyship.  I  expect  to  get  to  housekeeping 
next  week;  and  am  so  busy.  Mercy  on  me,  what  work 
this  housekeeping  makes  !  I  am  half  crazed  with  semps- 
tresses, waiters,  chambermaids,  and  every  thing  else  — 
calling  to  be  hired,  enquiring  characters,  such  a  fuss. 
I  cannot  possibly  imagine  why  you  are  not  here.  I 
should  have  wrote  immediately  after  receiving  your 
letter,  but  Mr.  Bowne  was  sure  you  would  be  here  in 
less  than  a  week.  It  is  possible  you  may  be  in  Boston 
to  receive  this ;  if  not,  you  will  be  here  or  on  the  way. 
If  you  are  troubled  about  a  Protector,  Mr.  Bowne  says 
there  has  been  several  martied  gentlemen  come  on  lately, 
which  if  you  had  known  of,  would  have  been  proper. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Davis  may  hear  of  some  one.  At  any  rate 
come  as  soon  as  possible,  for  I  am  very  impatient  to  see 
you.  My  best  love  to  Louisa  ;  tell  her  I  should  be  much 
delighted  to  see  her  in  New  York  this  winter,  and  my 
Husband  frequently  says  he  should  like  to  have  Mr. 
Davis'  family  near  us  in  New  York.  I  am  sure  I  should 
with  all  my  heart.  Say  everything  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Davis  for  me  that  bespeaks  esteem. 

Adieu.    Yours  always, 

Miss  Octavia  Southgate.  ELIZA  S.   BOWNE. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        185 

Bloomingdale,  Nov.  2,  1803.1 

Mr.  Bowne  has  just  bro't  me  a  letter  from  you  in 
which  you  mention  coming  on  with  Mr.  Wood.  I  am 
fearful  my  answer  will  arrive  too  late,  as  your  letter  has 
been  written  nearly  a  fortnight.  At  any  rate,  come  on 
with  Mr.  Wood  if  he  has  not  set  out.  You  should  not 
wait  for  an  answer  from  me — I  shall  be  ready  to  re- 
ceive you  at  any  time,  at  housekeeping  or  not.  We  go 
in  town  next  Monday,  every  body  is  moving  in  ;  for  the 
last  3  days  there  has  been  no  death,  and  for  5  no  new 
cases.  If,  unfortunately,  Mr.  Wood  should  have  gone 
and  you  not  accepted  of  his  protection,  come  the  very 
next  opportunity  without  consulting  me  or  waiting  a 
moment.  I  hope  to  get  to  housekeeping  very  soon.  We 
have  just  returned  from  Uncle's,  where  we  had  been  to 
meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paine  (Mrs.  Doble)  from  Boston ; 
she  is  less  beautiful  than  I  expected,  —  charming  little 
daughter.  I  am  more  and  more  delighted  with  Aunt 
King,  she  is  so  unaffected,  easy  and  ladylike.  Margaret 
and  Mr.  Duncan  married  ?  I  expect  to  hear  still 
stranger  things  from  Portland  —  now  Ellen  Foster  is 
married.  I  suppose  she  is,  tho'  I  have  not  heard.  I  am 
hourly  and  impatiently  expecting  to  hear  from  Martha. 
How  unfortunate !  What  would  I  give  to  be  nearer  ! 
Adieu  :  'tis  late ;  come  as  soon  as  possible.  Give  my  love 
to  all  friends. 

Yours  affectionately,  Eliza  S.  Bowne. 

1  To  Miranda  Southgate,  or,  more  likely,  to  Octavia.     (M.  K.  L.) 


186       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 


New  York,  Dec.  24,  1803.1 

My  Dear  Mother : 

Eliza  received  a  letter  yesterday  from  you,  where  you 
say  you  have  not  received  a  letter  from  either  of  us  a 
long  time.  I  am  really  surprised  at  it,  as  I  wrote  you 
very  frequently  from  Boston,  and  am  determined  to  let 
you  have  a  letter  now  every  fortnight  to  let  you  know 
what  we  are  doing  and  whether  I  am  happy.  I  begin 
to  feel  quite  at  home  and  certainly  never  was  happier  in 
my  life.  It  is  true  I  sometimes  sigh  for  home,  but  it  is 
generally  when  I  am  in  a  crowd  that  I  am  most  there 
in  imagination.  But  when  I  am  here  and  none  but  our 
own  family,  I  have  not  a  single  wish  ungratified.  I  am 
much  more  pleased  with  New  York  on  every  account 
than  with  Boston.  As  a  City  it  is  much  superior,  the 
situation  is  every  way  as  delightful  as  possible.  The 
inhabitants  to  me  are  much  more  pleasing,  more  ease, 
more  sociability  and  elegance,  yet  not  so  ostentatious,  — 
they  dress  with  remarkable  simplicity  ;  and  I  think  I 
could  spend  the  winter  here  and  not  expend  half  the 
money  that  I  must  unavoidably  do  in  Boston.  There 
every  one  dresses,  and  a  person  would  look  singular  not 
to  conform ;  but  here  there  is  such  a  variety,  and  the 
most  genteel  people  dress  so  plain  that  one  never  appears 
singular.  To-morrow  is  Christmas  and  we  dine  at 
Uncles  ;  he  is  a  charming  man,  looks  amazingly  like  you, 
so  much  so  that  I  admire  to  look  at  him.     She  is  a  very 

1  From  Octavia  Southgate  to  Mrs.  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        187 

affable,  pleasing  woman,  and  they  both  appear  to  be  fond 
of  Eliza.  We  were  at  a  concert  last  evening  ;  the  most 
delightful  music  I  ever  heard.  We  wished  for  Horatio 
all  the  evening.  There  is  not  much  gaiety,  they  tell  me, 
till  after  the  holydays,  that  is  Christmas  and  New  Year. 
We  have  been  into  no  parties  yet,  but  have  made  many 
sociable  visits,  which  I  very  much  admire.  I  am  very 
much  pleased  with  all  the  friends  we  have  visited.  Old 
Mrs.  Bowne  is  a  fine,  motherly  old  lady;  she  treats  Eliza 
with  as  much  affection  as  an  own  mother,  —  they  all  ap- 
pear to  be  very  glad  to  see  me,  and  I  really  feel  some- 
times as  though  I  was  at  home ;  how  I  long  to  see  you  all ! 
How  is  Arixene  and  Mary  ?  How  I  want  to  see  them  ! 
How  is  Papa  this  winter  ?  Ah  !  if  you  were  all  here  ! 
But  next  spring  we  shall  all  be  with  you.  I  am  afraid 
you  are  solitary  —  if  you  are,  do,  my  Dear  Mother,  tell 
me,  find  any  opportunity,  and  I'll  be  with  you  as  soon  as 
you  say,  —  depend  on  it,  I  shall  never  get  so  attached 
either  to  the  inhabitants  or  the  gaieties  of  New  York, 
as  to  feel  reluctant  to  return  home ;  even  in  my  happiest 
hours  I  think  of  the  time  with  extreme  pleasure.  This 
family  is  the  only  thing  that  would  root  me  to  the  spot, 
and  there  is  a  charm  in  that  which  nothing  but  home 
can  equal.  I  have  promised  Eliza  a  page  for  you,  so  I 
suppose  I  must  close.  Give  my  best  love  to  Father  and 
the  children,  and  believe  me  your  affectionate  child, 

OCTAVIA    SOUTHGATE. 

Octavia  has  reserved  me  a  page  in  her  letter  which  I 


1 88       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

hasten  to  improve.  I  thank  you,  my  Dear  Mother,  for 
yours,  and  beg  you  will  often  write  me,  now  Octavia  is 
with  me  and  cannot  tell  me  about  home.  I  am  at 
length  settled  at  housekeeping  very  pleasantly,  and  do 
not  find  it  such  a  tremendous  undertaking.  I  have  been 
fortunate  in  servants,  which  makes  it  much  less  trouble- 
some ;  the  house  we  have  taken  does  not  altogether 
please  us,  but  at  any  time  but  May  'tis  extremely  diffi- 
cult to  get  a  house.  In  the  Spring  we  shall  be  able  to 
suit  ourselves.  Mr.  Bowne  wishes  to  build  and  is  try- 
ing to  find  a  lot  that  suits  him,  —  if  so,  we  shall  build 
the  next  season.  Almost  everybody  in  New  York  hire 
houses,  but  I  think  it  much  pleasanter  living  in  one's 
own.  I  am  more  and  more  pleased  with  New  York, 
there  is  more  ease  and  sociability  than  I  expected.  I 
admire  Uncle  and  Aunt  more  and  more  every  day,  and 
Mr.  Bowne  thinks  there  never  was  Uncle's  equal,  — 
such  a  character  as  he  had  often  imagined,  though  not 
supposed  existed.  I  believe  I  shan't  go  to  the  next  As- 
sembly ;  Octavia  will  go  with  Aunt  King.  You  say  Mr. 
Bowne  must  write  you,  and  as  a  subject  mention  the 
dividends  from  the  Insurance  Office.  In  the  Summer 
there  was  no  dividend,  no  profits  ;  the  next  dividend  will 
be  soon.  Mr.  Codman  thinks  there  will  be  a  tolerable 
one,  —  you  shall  hear  as  soon  as  it  takes  place ;  we  have 
received  nothing  as  yet.  Uncle  and  Aunt  always  in- 
quire particularly  about  you,  and  desire  to  be  mentioned. 
Make  my  best  love  to  all  friends,  kiss  the  children  and 
tell  them  not  to  forget  sister  Eliza.     I  live  in  the  hope 


A  Girls  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       189 

of  seeing  you  next  Autumn  —  Heaven  grant  I  may  not 
be  disappointed!  Remember  me  with  my  best  love  to 
my  Father  and  all  the  family.  Adieu  ;  write  me  soon, 
and  believe  me 

Your  affectionate  Eliza  S.  Bowne. 

Mrs.  Robert  Southgate. 


New  York,  March. 

Dear  Miranda : 

I  have  been  talking  of  writing  to  you  so  long  that  I 
think  it  is  quite  time  I  should  talk  no  longer,  but  act ; 
but  you  should  not  have  waited  for  me  to  write.  You 
knew  both  Mr.  Bowne  and  myself  would  have  been  very 
glad  to  have  heard  from  you,  —  all  about  your  school, 
your  acquaintance,  amusements  or  anything,  and  I  have 
a  thousand  things  to  take  up  my  attention  that  you  have 
not.  Do  you  return  home  this  Spring  ?  We  shall  find 
you  at  home  when  we  come.  I  have  got  one  or  two 
trifles  I  want  to  send  you,  but  can't  find  an  opportunity; 
there  are  so  few  people  from  our  way  come  to  New 
York,  that  'tis  very  difficult  to  send  anything.  I  hear 
a  strange  story  about  Isabella  Porter:  she  is  a  silly  little 
girl,  and  when  she  is  older,  will  think  she  acted  very 
foolishly,  —  one  ought  to  know  more  of  the  world  before 
she  decides  on  a  thing  of  so  much  importance ;  she  is  a 
mere  baby  and  has  seen  nothing  of  life.  Do  you  often 
hear  of  Caroline,  Miranda  ?  I  feel  anxious  lest  she 
should  not  conduct  with  as    much   discretion    as  she 


190       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

ought,  as  she  never  knew  the  blessing  of  having  a  kind, 
indulgent  mother  to  watch  over  her  and  guard  her  from 
harm. 

When  I  was  in  Bethlehem  last  summer,  I  got  some 
little  caps  such  as  the  girls  at  school  wear,  and  such  as 
the  sisters  of  members  of  the  Society  wear.  I  want  to 
find  an  opportunity  to  send  them  to  you.  Did  you  ever 
read  a  description  of  Bethlehem  ?  If  you  never  did, 
you  may  find  one  in  some  of  the  Boston  Magazines. 
We  had  a  little  book  called  a  "Tour  to  Bethlehem," 
which  if  I  can  find  I  will  send  you.  It  will  give  you  a 
very  correct  idea  of  the  place,  society  and  customs. 
When  I  was  there,  there  were  83  girls,  from  4  to  16,  at 
the  school,  from  almost  every  part  of  the  United  States. 
They  all  wear  these  little  caps  tied  with  a  pink  ribbon, 
which  looks  very  pretty  where  you  see  so  many  of  them 
together,  —  they  learn  music,  embroidery,  and  all  the 
useful  branches  of  education,  —  likewise  to  make  artifi- 
cial flowers  and  many  little  things  of  that  kind.  Do 
you  ever  attempt  painting?  — 'tis  a  charming  accomplish- 
ment, and  if  you  have  any  taste  for  it,  should  certainly 
cultivate  it.  Write  me  soon,  and  tell  me  when  you  are 
going  home  and  of  anything  else  that  interests  you. 
Mr.  Bowne  often  talks  of  you  and  now  desires  to  be' par- 
ticularly remembered. 

Adieu ;  remember  me  to  any  of  my  friends  who  en- 
quire, and  believe  me 

Your  affectionate  sister,  Eliza  S.  Bowne. 

Miranda  Southgate. 


/OF 
rIVE 

A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       191 

Rockaway,  August  24,  1804. 

Dear  Girls : 

I  enclose  you  a  piece  of  Mr.  Blovell's  poetry  on  the 
Miss  Broomes'  country  seat  at  Bloomingdale ;  as  you 
both  know  him,  I  think  it  will  amuse  you.  I  expect 
Eliza  and  Jane  Watts  down  here  in  a  few  days  and 
should  be  delighted  if  you  could  be  here  at  the  same 
time.  I  wrote  to  you,  Octavia,  on  Monday  last  a  long 
letter,  —  answer  it  soon  and  tell  me  how  far  you  mean 
to  comply  with  my  proposals.  I  spent  several  days  at 
Flushing  last  week  ;  they  all  enquired  very  affectionately 
for  you;  but  I  don't  know  but  Miranda  is  your  rival  — 
she  is  a  monstrous  favorite  among  some  of  them.  I  be- 
lieve Mary  Murray  is  engaged  and  all  matters  settled. 
I  met  the  Murrays  and  Mrs.  Ogden  at  Miss  Curtis's ; 
they  came  up  from  New  York  the  same  day  we  did  from 
Rockaway,  —  very  fortunate  meeting  them,  for  it  ren- 
dered my  visit  doubly  pleasant.  'Twas  the  season  for 
peaches,  we  feasted  finely.  I  shall  attend  to  your  mem- 
orandums as  soon  as  possible.  Give  my  best  love  to 
Horatio  and  Nabby,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  connect  the 
names,  and  tell  him  my  plan.  Mr.  Bowne  says  I  must 
write  another  letter  to  urge  it  more  strongly;  it  must 
be  so.  Yours  ever, 

E.  S.  Bowne. 


192       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

[New  York,  November  9th,  1804  (?).] 

I  have  been  in  daily  expectation  of  a  letter  from  you 
ever  since  my  return  and  none  has  yet  come.  I  have 
not  heard  a  word  from  Isabella,  tho'  I  have  been  very 
anxious.  The  trunks  arrived  yesterday  with  an  old  letter 
for  me  enclosed  by  Horatio  in  a  blank  cover,  not  a  word 
to  say  how  all  the  family  did,  particularly  Isabella.  We 
are  still  at  our  Mother's,  and  shall  probably  remain  a 
fortnight  longer;  the  house  would  be  ready  in  a  few 
days,  but  we  think  it  is  too  damp  at  present.  Every 
body  expected  you  back,  for  the  Murrays  had  told  most 
of  our  acquaintance  you  were  to  return  with  me.  John 
and  Hannah  Murray  came  to  see  me  the  day  after  I 
arrived.  John  rattles  as  usual,  talks  much  of  getting 
married  —  his  old  tune,  you  know  :  he  has  completed  his 
thirtieth  year  now  since  we  have  been  gone  ;  he  says, 
"I  begin  to  feel  the  approach  of  old  age."  Mr.  Newbold 
called  to  enquire  particularly  after  your  ladyship,  and 
Mr.  Rhinelander1  spent  last  evening  with  us;  I  think 
he  improves  fast;  he  told  me  a  deal  of  news.  Miss 
Farquar  and  Mr.  Jepson  2  were  married  last  night,  Miss 
Blackwell  and  Mr.  Forbes,  and  one  or  two  others. 
Rhinelander  says  half  the  girls  in  town  are  to  be  mar- 
ried before  Spring.     Maria  Denning  for  one ;  and  the 

1  Mr.  Newbold  and  Mr.  Philip  Rhinelander  were  well-known  New 
Yorkers.  The  latter  married,  December  22,  1814,  Miss  Mary  Colden 
Hoffman. 

2  Mr.  Jephson  was  an  Englishman  who  had  lately  arrived  in  New 
York. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        193 

world  says  Amelia  and  James  Gillispie  will  certainly 
make  a  match,  —  that  I  was  surprised  at.  Miss  Bunner1 
and  John  Duer  are  married  ;  Sally  Duer  is  soon  to  be; 
and  Fanny  is  positively  engaged  to  Mr.  Smith,  whom 
you  saw  several  times  last  winter,  of  Princeton.  So 
you  see  all  the  girls  are  silly  enough  to  give  up  their 
fine  dancing  days  and  become  old  matrons  like  myself. 
Mrs.  Kane  is  in  town ;  looks  older,  paler,  and  thinner. 
She  has  got  a  charming  little  girl,2  fat  and  good-natured 
as  possible.  Mrs.  Ogden  stays  out  of  town  all  winter. 
We  are  engaged  at  Mrs.  Bogert's  this  afternoon,  but  it 
storms  so  violently  I  believe  I  shan't  go.  She  regrets 
very  much  your  not  coming,  and  Lucia  [Wadsworth]  she 
would  be  delighted  to  have.  Our  things  arrived  yester- 
day, but  are  not  out  of  the  vessel  yet.  At  present 
there  is  no  gaiety,  quite  dull ;  there  will  be  a  revival 
soon,  I  suppose.  Mr.  Poinsett  has  been  to  see  me 
several  mornings ;  he  goes  on  Monday  to  Carolina. 
Miss  de  Neufville  spends  the  winter  in  New  York  with 
her  Aunt  Stowton.  I  meant  to  call  on  her  this  morn- 
ing, but  it  was  stormy.  The  few  days  I  was  in  Boston 
I  was  constantly  engaged.     We  dined  at  Sheriff  Allen's 

1  John  Duer  married  Miss  Anne  Bunner  October  19,  1804,  and  his 
brother,  William  Duer,  soon  after  married  Maria  Denning.  Mr.  Rhine- 
lander  engaged  the  two  Miss  Duers  to  the  wrong  men.  Fanny  married 
Beverly  Robinson,  and  Sally  married,  March  10,  1805,  John  Witherspoon 
Smith,  and  died  July  10,  1887,  in  the  one  hundred  and  first  year  of  her 
age. 

2  Mrs.  Kane's  "charming  little  girl  "became  Mrs.  James  King  of  Al- 
bany, and  the  mother  of  many  well-known  New  Yorkers. 


194       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

with  a  very  large  party,  —  Lady  Temple,1  Mrs.  Win- 
throp  and  daughters,  Mrs.  Bowdoin,  Mrs.  G.  Green, 
Mrs.  Stouton  and  daughter,  and  many  others,  —  about 
30 ;  and  we  were  at  Mrs.  G.  Blake's  at  a  tea-party,  she 
enquired  particularly  after  you ;  she  is  a  very  fine 
woman  I  think.  Our  journey  on  was  tolerably  pleasant. 
We  arrived  before  Uncle  and  Aunt.  Eliza  Watts  told 
me  she  had  a  letter  from  you  after  I  left  home.  Adieu ; 
write  me  soon  and  tell  me  all  the  news.  Give  my  best 
love  to  Father,  Mother,  and  all  the  family.  I  am  very 
well  and  grow  fat;  everybody  says  I  am  wonderfully 
improved.     Write  me  soon. 

Yours  ever, 

Eliza  S.  Bowne. 


New  York,  July  30,  1804. 

I  received  your  letter,  my  Dearest  Mother,  three  days 
since,  and  every  moment  of  my  time  and  attention 
since  has  been  taken  up  with  our  dear  Eliza.  I  am 
grieved  that  you  are  so  low-spirited  about  her,  tho'  as 
you  predicted  her  trouble  has  again  ended,  I  yet  feel 
confident  if  we  once  get  her  home,  that  she  will  gain 
strength  and  do  well.  Her  Physician  has  been  in  great 
hopes  that  she  would  get  through  this  time  without  any 

1  Lady  Temple  was  the  daughter  of  Governor  Bowdoin,  and  had  mar- 
ried Sir  John  Temple.  Their  daughter,  afterwards  Mrs.  Winthrop,  was 
the  mother  of  the  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop.  She  was  long  the  reigning 
belle  in  Boston. 


<S)      — 

O      m 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,        195 

difficulty,  indeed  the  first  week  we  were  in  the  country- 
she  was  so  finely,  that  we  all  felt  encouraged  about  her. 
She  had  been  as  prudent  as  possible,  and  she  can't  with 
any  reason  reflect  upon  herself.  The  last  week  we 
were  there  she  began  to  droop  again,  and  Mr.  Bowne 
brought  her  into  town  with  an  intention  of  carrying  her 
to  Flushing ;  now  we  shall  set  off  for  home  as  soon  as 
she  is  strong  enough  to  travel.  I  am  astonished  at  her 
spirits,  they  are  as  good  again  as  mine,  and  yet  to-day 
she  is  so  much  better.     I  feel  finely  myself. 

She  has  had  no  pain,  but  only  suffers  from  weakness. 
We  shall  go  in  three  or  four  days  to  Flushing,  which  is 
a  fine,  bracing  air,  and  stay  there  a  few  days  till  Eliza 
is  smart  enough  to  travel  10  miles  a  day.  I  place  full 
confidence  in  this  journey;  I  am  sure  that  the  change 
of  air  and  scene,  and  more  than  all,  the  prospect  of 
home,  will  render  it  truly  beneficial.  We  are  at  Mr. 
Bowne's  mother's,  for  we  have  shut  our  house  up.  She 
is  a  fine  old  lady,  and  Caroline  is  perfectly  amiable  and 
as  attentive  as  possible.  I  am  very  glad  we  are  here 
and  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mrs.  Bogert,  for  she  is  all 
goodness.  I  grow  more  and  more  anxious  every  hour 
to  get  home.  The  city  is  quite  deserted,  though  it 
never  was  more  healthy.  There  are  as  few  deaths  as 
there  were  in  the  winter.  There  has  been  two  weeks 
of  vay  cool  weather.  I  go  wandering  about  and  see 
scarcely  a  face  I  know.  I  used  to  complain  last  winter 
of  our  large  acquaintance,  and  having  the  house  full  of 
company,  but  now  I  exclaim  out  half  a  dozen  times  a 


196       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

day  that  "I  wished  I  could  see  some  one  I  knew." 
There  are  gentlemen  enough,  but  no  ladies.  Uncle  and 
Aunt,  I  suppose,  have  nearly  set  out  for  Scarborough. 
I  wish  we  were  to  be  there  whilst  they  are  with  you. 
You  can  have  no  idea  how  very  anxious  I  am  to  return. 
Was  I  not  so  much  occupied  I  should  be  positively 
homesick,  but  I  have  no  time  to  think  but  upon  one 
subject.  Kiss  the  dear  children  for  us  all,  for  we  are 
equally  anxious  to  see  you.  •Remember  me  very  affec- 
tionately to  Sister  Boyd  and  to  the  children.  Before  I 
leave  here  I  shall  be  in  need  of  a  little  money.  I  won't 
seal  my  letter  to-night,  but  will  write  you  how  she  is 
to-morrow. 

July  31- 
I  did  not  finish  my  letter  this  morning  because  Eliza 
did  not  feel  as  well  as  usual,  but  this  afternoon  she  is 
better.  She  is  in  charming  spirits  and  so  very  well 
that  we  are  delighted.  She  gives  her  best  love  to  you  ; 
says  she  don't  feel  at  all  obliged  to  you  for  your  wishes, 
and  is  determined  not  to  join  with  you.  The  old  lady 
desires  to  be  remembered,  and  says,  — "  If  thee  was 
here,  thee  could  do  no  more  for  thy  child  than  we  have." 
Indeed  she  is  the  most  tender,  affectionate  of  women. 
My  best  love  to  my  Father.  We  are  in  the  full  of 
seeing  you  soon.  I  shall  not  make  it  long  before  I 
write  again. 

Yours  affectionately, 

O.    SOUTHGATE. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       197 

June  3,  1805. 

Dear  Octavia : 

Mamma  arrived  safe  and  well  on  Wednesday  morning 
to  our  great  joy,  after  having  a  pleasant  passage  from 
Newport,  staying  two  days  in  Boston,  two  in  Newport, 
and  one  in  Providence.  We  are  going  to  Uncle's  to 
dine  to-day,  and  I  can't  persuade  Miranda  to  write  a 
line  to  let  you  know  Mamma  had  come,  —  company 
coming  in  every  minute,  and  can  but  just  steal  a  mo- 
ment to  write.  Louise  is  with  you,  —  I  am  more  than 
half  vexed  that  I  am  to  be  disappointed  of  the  charming 
winter  I  had  promised  myself,  with  you  and  Louise  to 
spend  it  with  me,  so  you  need  not  be  surprised  if  I  am 
rather  ill-natured  at  times.  The  secret  is  out,  and  all 
your  friends,  beaux  I  mean,  walk  the  other  side  of  the 
street  when  I  meet  them.  Mary  Murray  called  this 
morning  ;  seemed  rather  disappointed  at  not  having  a 
letter.  Eliza  Watts  thanks  you  for  the  wedding-cake  as 
well  as  myself.  Give  my  best  love  to  Louise  as  well  as 
all  my  other  friends.  We  go  over  into  Jersey  to-mor- 
row, —  E.  Watts  and  Susan  go  with  us,  —  John  Wads- 
worth.  I  wish  you  could  have  been  here  while  Mamma 
was.  Adieu  ;  write  me  soon,  and  expect  a  longer  letter 
as  soon  as  I  can  command  a  little  more  time. 

Your  affectionate  E.  S.  Bowne. 

P.  S.  Remember  I  don't  call  this  a  letter,  so  no  lec- 
tures on  that  head. 


198       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Jamaica,  October  6,  1805. 

I  am  delighted,  my  Dear  Octavia,  to  hear  you  are  so 
finely,  and  the  more  so  as  I  hear  it  from  yourself.  I  did 
not  so  soon  expect  such  fine  effects  from  the  new 
system  of  living ;  I  am  sure  all  will  be  well  now.  A 
wedding  I  suppose  next,  for  I  conclude  from  the  mel- 
ancholy pathos  with  which  you  say,  you  shall  "  neither 
have  the  independence  of  a  married  woman,  nor  of  a 
single,"  that  you  don't  mean  to  try  the  half-way  be- 
ing. However,  let  the  man  teaze  if  he  will ;  do  not 
think  of  being  married  until  your  health  is  perfectly 
confirmed,  —  I  would  not  for  the  world.  'Tis  so  late 
in  the  season,  'tis  not  possible  I  can  come  to  see 
you  this  fall,  even  tho'  there  should  be  two  weddings 
in  November.  And  so  you  talk  of  spending  the  win- 
ter with  me,  —  how  you  love  to  tantalize  !  —  and  wish 
me  to  give  you  the  pleasure  of  refusing  me.  You 
know  I  should  be  delighted  to  have  you,  but  you  know 
you  never  mean  to  visit  New  York  as  Miss  Southgate 
again.  Somebody  would  put  on  a  graver  face  than  he 
did  last  fall  on  a  like  occasion,  and  as  he  had  as  much 
influence  then  as  to  counteract  my  wishes,  I  won't  sub- 
ject myself  to  the  mortification  of  another  defeat  now  I 
know  his  power  to  be  much  greater.  However  I  won't 
ask,  tho'  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  have  you  with  me.  As 
for  news,  you  give  me  more  than  I  can  you.  We  have 
left  Rockaway  more  than  a  week  ago,  still  exiled  from 
our  home  by  this  dreadful  calamity.     We  are  at  lodg- 


A  Girl's  Life^  Eighty  Years  Ago.       199 

ings  in  Jamaica,  where  we  shall  probably  remain  until 
'tis  safe  removing  to  the  City.  Uncle  and  Aunt,  —  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bogert,1  have  gone  about  30  miles  down  the 
Island,  sporting  for  Grouse,  and  return  to  Jamaica  until 
we  can  all  go  in  town.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rogers  (Cruger 
that  was)  have  taken  a  house  in  Jamaica  during  the 
fever ;  the  next  door  to  this  I  lodge  in.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hayward2  are  with  them,  but  leave  here  for  Charleston 
this  week.  I  am  in  there  half  of  my  time.  We  make  a 
snug  little  party  at  Brag  in  the  evening  frequently,  and 
work  together  mornings.  Mr.  Bowne  goes  to  Green- 
wich, where  all  the  business  is  transacted,  on  Mondays 
and  Thursdays,  but  returns  the  same  night,  so  I  am 
but  little  alone.  As  to  news  —  Miss  Charlotte  Manden 
Heard  was  married  last  week  to  a  gentleman  from  De- 
marara,  whom  nobody  knew  she  was  engaged  to  until 
he  came  a  few  weeks  since  and  they  were  married. 
John  Murray,  I  believe,  is  at  last  really  in  love,  tho' 
'tis  not  yet  determined  whether  the  lady  smiles  or  not. 
A  Miss  Rogers  from  Baltimore,  whom  he  met  at  the 
Springs,  —  a  sweet  interesting  girl,  'tis  said.  Wolsey 
Rogers3  and  Harriet  Clarke4  were  talked  of  as  a  match 

1  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bogert  were  intimate  friends  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rufus 
King's,  and  they  occupied  adjoining  places  at  Jamaica. 

2  Mrs.  Heyward  was  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rogers'  daughter.  She  married  Mr. 
Heyward  of  South  Carolina.  Miss  Heyward  married  Mr.  Cutting  of  New 
York,  and  was  the  mother  of  Messrs.  William,  Heyward,  and  Brockholst 
Cutting. 

3  Wolsey  Rogers  married,  Thursday  evening,  December  i,  1807,  Miss 
Susan  Bayard. 

4  Harriet  Clarke,  a  daughter  of  John  Innes  Clarke  of  Providence,  and 
sister  of  Mrs.  Kane. 


200       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

at  the  Springs.  Mrs.  Kane  *  staid  at  the  Springs  till  she 
was  so  late  she  could  not  venture  to  ride  to  Providence 
with  her  Mother,  and  the  fever  kept  her  from  New 
York,  so  was  obliged  to  stop  at  Mrs.  Gilbert  Living- 
stone's2—  Mr.  Kane's  sister  —  at  Red  Hook,  until  able 
to  resume  her  journey  home,  which  will  probably  be  in 
November.  Mrs.  Fish3  has  a  daughter;  great  joy  on 
the  occasion.  Give  my  love  to  Cousin  Pauline,4  and 
tell  her  I  congratulate  her  on  the  birth  of  her  son. 
What  do  Mary  5  and  Paulina  call  their  boys  —  Nathaniel 
and  Enoch?  I  hope  not,  never  keep  up  such  ugly 
names.  Mr.  B.  says  you  must  spend  the  winter  with 
us,  —  he  will  come  under  bonds  to  somebody  to  return 
you  safe.  Give  my  best  love  to  Sister  Boyd,  Horatio, 
and  all  the  family  at  home.  Has  any  progress  been 
made  in  the  new  house  ?  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  fear  not 
—  'tis  pity,  —  I  had  almost  said  'tis  wrong.  I  am  half 
mortified  when  I  hear  of  any  of  my  acquaintance  visit- 

1  Mrs.  Oliver  Kane  had  married,  at  Providence,  R.  I.,  May  22,  1803, 
Mr.  Oliver  Kane,  merchant  of  this  city.  Her  children  were  Mrs.  King 
of  Albany,  Mrs.  William  Russel,  Mrs.  Nicholsen,  John,  De  Lancey,  and 
Miss  Lydia  Kane. 

2  Mrs.  Gilbert  R.  Livingston  (Martha  Kane),  a  sister  of  Oliver  Kane. 
Her  children  were  Mrs.  Henry  Beekman,  Mrs.  Codwise,  Mrs.  Constable, 
the  Rev.  Gilbert  R.  Livingston,  and  James  Kane  Livingston. 

8  Mrs.  Fish  (Miss  Elizabeth  Stuyvesant)  had  married,  April  30,  1803, 
Colonel  Nicholas  Fish.  This  daughter  was  Mrs.  Daniel  le  Roy.  The  Hon. 
Hamilton  Fish  and  Mrs.  Richard  Morris  were  also  children  of  Colonel 
Fish's. 

4  Pauline  Porter,  daughter  of  Paulina  King  and  Dr.  Aaron  Porter  of 
Portland,  had  married  Edward  Beecher. 

5  Mary  King  Porter,  her  sister,  married  Nathaniel  Coffin  of  Saco. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       201 

ing  Portland,  —  'tis  true,  I  declare,  —  tho'  Husband 
would  scold  me  for  saying  so.  Pappa  is  an  affectionate 
Father,  yet  therein  he  acts  not  up  to  his  character.  I 
must  check  my  pen  —  I  am  too  much  interested  in 
this  subject.  Adieu;  make  my  compliments  to  all  ac- 
quaintances and  write  me  again  soon.  Love  to  Miranda 
—  tell  her  Mrs.  Bogert  talks  much  of  her,  and  remind 
her  from  me  of  Aunt's  sleeves  ;  are  they  finished  ?  —  if 
they  are,  I  hope  she  will  send  them  by  Mrs.  McKersen. 
I  am  working  me  a  beautiful  dress,  —  it  will  be  when 
'tis  done.  By-the-by,  any  purchases  for  the  coming 
occasion  will  be  executed  with  pleasure.  Give  my  best 
love  to  (sister  I  had  almost  said)  Nabby,1  and  tell  her 
I  shall  feel  myself  flattered  by  any  commission  she  will 
give  me  either  in  clothes  or  furniture;  do  away  her 
modesty  in  this  thing,  if  you  think  I  can  be  of  any  ser- 
vice in  that  way,  for  I  assure  you  'twill  gratify  me.  Tell 
Horatio1  I  am  impatient  to  thank  him  for  giving  so 
pleasant  an  acquisition  to  our  family,  but  I  could  do  it 
more  heartily  in  person  in  New  York,  if  so  I  might  be 
indulged.  Since  you  won't  be  honest  and  tell  the  truth, 
I  won't  tell  you  what  I  '11  say  to  you.  Do  ask  Papa  if 
he  could  send  us  6  or  8  barrels  of  potatoes,  there  is  like 
to  be  a  great  scarcity  in  New  York ;  put  them  in  the 
hold  of  the  vessel  or  anywhere.  Col.  Barclay  has  sent 
to  Nova  Scotia  for  a  vessel  load,  —  a  housekeeper  — 
What  a  romantic  conclusion.  Yours,         E.  B. 

1  Horatio  Southgate  married  his  first  wife,  Nabby  McLellan,  September 
29,  1805.  Mrs.  Bowne  is  here  alluding  to  her  sister  Octavia's  engagement 
to  William  Browne. 


202       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

New  York,  Nov.  10,  1805. 

Horatio  is  really  married  then  ;  and  we  not  married ; 
and  I  suppose  the  next  account  your  ladyship  will  be 
added  to  the  list.  How  swimmingly  you  all  go  on !  What 
a  tremendous  marrying  place  Portland  is.  New  Yorkers 
don't  marry  —  sad  sett  of  them.  I  am  half  angry  to 
think  you  are  marrying  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  sea- 
son, that  'tis  impossible  any  one  can  come  to  see  you. 
However,  I  hope  to  come  early  in  the  summer,  if  noth- 
ing happens  to  prevent,  and  spend  3  or  4  months.  I 
shall  have  so  many  new  relations  that  'twill  be  neces- 
sary to  come  often  to  keep  an  account.  Robert  Murray  x 
came  home  quite  delighted  with  his  eastern  visit,  but 
disappointed  at  seeing  so  little  of  Miranda.  What  has 
been  the  matter  with  her,  any  thing  more  than  a  heavy 
cold  ?  I  wish  she  was  here  with  all  my  heart.  I  am 
quite  alone  and  require  a  companion  more  than  ever, 
but  I  suppose  Mamma  could  not  hear  of  that.  I  wish 
Arixene  and  Mary  could  have  found  a  good  opportunity 
to  come  this  fall,  and  we  could  take  them  home  in  the 
summer,  — but  I  suppose  I  must  be  content.  We  have 
been  in  town  since  the  31st  of  October,  the  day  your 
letter  was  dated  ;  it  has  been  a  long  time  in  coming.  I 
got  it  only  last  evening.  Mr.  Bowne  had  found  out 
Capt.  Libby,  and  we  were  preparing  to  send  the  sheet- 
ing and  diaper  by  him  ;  he  sails  the  last  of  the  week; 
the  other  things  you  wish  we  will  send  as  many  as  can 

1  Robert  Murray,  Mr.  Bowne's  nephew. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       203 

be  procured  before  the  vessel  sails,  but  'twill  be  impos- 
sible to  get  any  plate  made  to  send  for  several  weeks,  — 
we  will  order  it  immediately,  and  as  it  will  not  be  bulky, 
there  will  probably  be  no  difficulty  in  finding  a  convey- 
ance. We  made  a  sketch  of  the  articles  you  wished 
and  of  the  pieces,  which  cannot  be  very  incorrect,  as  I 
took  them  all  from  our  own  furniture  book,  and  we  cal- 
culated that  the  whole  of  Mamma's  plate  and  another 
suit  of  curtains  for  Nabby  included  would  come  at  about 
400  dollars.  Mr.  B.  has  340  in  his  hands  of  Pappa's, 
about  the  sum  that  would  buy  all  the  things  but  Mam- 
ma's plate  and  Nabby's  curtains ;  however,  that  makes 
not  the  least  difference  to  Mr.  Bowne,  as  he  desires  me  to 
say  he  shall  execute  the  commissions  with  great  pleasure, 
and  'twill  be  no  inconvenience  to  him  to  purchase  the 
other  articles,  and  I  merely  mentioned  it  as  I  did  not 
know  that  you  knew  the  real  sum  in  Mr.  Bowne's  hands. 
'Tis  very  lucky  there  is  so  direct  an  opportunity  to  Scar- 
borough ;  we  shall  endeavor  to  send  as  many  things  as 
possible.  Shopping  at  present  is  a  prohibited  pleasure 
to  me,  but  as  all  the  things  can  be  better  procured  at 
wholesale  stores,  and  my  husband  has  both  a  great  deal 
of  taste  and  judgment  in  those  things,  and  makes  better 
bargains  than  I  do,  you  will  be  no  sufferer  by  the  loss 
of  my  services  in  that,  —  and  I  can  have  anything  sent 
to  me  to  look  at,  and  therefore  'tis  quite  as  well  as  if  I 
went  for  them.  I  don't  mean  you  shall  understand  be- 
cause I  don't  go  shopping  that  I  am  confined  to  the 
house.     On  the  contrary,  I  am  much  better  than  could 


204       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

be  expected  and  hope  with  care  to  do  very  well.  I  shall 
go  out  very  little  until  the  middle  or  last  of  the  winter, 
when  I  hope,  if  I  continue  well,  to  be  most  as  smart  as 
other  people.  My  husband  does  not  allow  me  to  go 
into  a  shop.  I  laugh  at  him  and  tell  him  I  don't  be- 
lieve but  the  health  of  his  purse  is  one-half  his  concern 

—  a  fine  excuse.  Mrs.  Bogert  is  in  expectation  of  see- 
ing Lucia  Wadsworth  when  the  General  comes  on.  I 
have  been  confined  to  the  house  with  a  severe  cold 
since  Thursday,  —  Friday  and  Saturday  was  quite  sick, 
and  to-day  feel  unfit  for  anything  almost  but  my  bed. 
Adieu  ;  my  best  love  to  all  the  family.  You  mentioned 
nothing  of  the  Cypher  on  the  Plate:  O.  S.  or  B.  — or 
your  crest,  or  William's  crest,  if  you  can  find  them  out, 

—  I  suppose  we  could  here,  —  or  what  ?  Mamma's  I 
suppose  will  be  S.  only.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell 
you  what  a  saucy  thing  my  husband  said  on  your  anxi- 
ety —  that  the  bowls  and  edges  of  the  spoons  should 
not  be  sharp  ;  but  I  leave  you  to  guess,  or  if  you  can't, 
perhaps  William  may  help  you  to  an  explanation. 

Adieu.     Yours  ever, 

E.  S.  Bowne. 

Miss  Octavia  Southgate. 


November  14,  1805. 

Capt.  Libby  sails  to-morrow ;  we  have  got  as  many 
things  as  possible.  There  is  not  a  piece  of  embossed 
Buff  in  New  York,  nor  of  plain  either,  there  is  not  more 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,       205 

than  2  pair  alike,  therefore  I  have  done  nothing  about 
the  trimmings.  I  fancy  Boston  is  a  better  place  for 
those  things  than  New  York.  The  most  fashionable 
beds  have  draperies  the  same  as  my  dimity  window  cur- 
tains. However,  if  you  think  best  I  will  look  farther, 
and  perhaps  there  will  be  something  new  open  in  a 
week  or  two.  There  is  but  one  barrel  urn  in  the  city. 
Mr.  B.  was  two  days  in  pursuit  of  one ;  he  purchased 
this  and  sent  it  back  :  'twas  brown,  and  no  plate  on  it 
except  the  nose.  I  can  get  you  one  like  mine  for  $25. 
Let  me  know  immediately  respecting  these  things. 
Yesterday  the  Silversmith  came  for  instructions  respect- 
ing the  plate,  and  bro't  patterns  for  me  to  look  at.  I 
ordered  a  set  of  tea-things  for  Mamma  the  same  as 
mine  ;  I  think  them  handsomer  than  any  I  see.  The  man 
is  to  send  me  some  patterns  to  look  at  which  he  thinks 
are  similar  to  your  description.  On  the  next  page  I  will 
make  a  list  of  the  goods  and  pieces  copied  from  the  bills. 


1  piece  Irish  sheeting,  48  yards,  at  5 
1  piece  Irish  sheeting,  55  yards,  at  6/6 
6  yards  Fine  Linen,  at  7/6      .     .     . 
12  Damask  Napkins,  at  8    .     .     .     . 

1  piece  fine  Diaper  27  yards,  at  5/6 

2  Breakfast  Cloths,  at  14  .     .     .     . 
1  plated  Castor  best  kind, .... 

1  plated  Cake  Basket  silver  rims     . 

2  Pearl  tea-pots,  2.25  ;  1  Trunk,  2.50 


$30.00 

44.69 

5.62 

12.00 

18.56 

3-5° 
12.00 
18.00 

4-75 


$149.12 


206       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago, 

The  sheeting  is  quite  as  cheap  as  mine,  the  fine  I  like 
very  much  and  think  it  quite  a  bargain.  The  Diaper  is 
not  quite  so  cheap  as  mine,  but  it  has  risen  ;  the  table- 
cloths are  cheap,  the  linen  is  high  I  think.  The  Cake 
Basket  is  very  cheap,  $2  cheaper  than  mine,  and  rather 
handsomer  I  think.  I  could  get  no  crimson  marking, 
but  send  you  a  few  skeins  of  cotton  which  I  procured 
with  much  difficulty.  The  napkins  are  not  the  kind  I 
wished,  but  there  was  none  of  those  excepting  at  2 
places,  and  they  were  18/  —  22/  a  piece.  I  thought 
these  pretty  and  would  answer  your  purpose.  I  enclose 
the  marking  cotton  and  the  key  of  the  trunk.  Adieu. 
Yours  ever,  E.  S.  Bowne. 

P.  S.     The  bills  are  in  Miranda's  book  in  the  trunk. 


Jan.  14,  1806. 

My  dear  Miranda : 

Mr.  Abbot  is  here  from  Brunswick  and  will  take  a 
letter  for  me  to  any  of  my  friends.  I  should  not  have 
been  surprised  any  more  to  have  seen  the  cupola  of  the 
college  itself  walk  into  the  room  than  I  was  to  see  Mr. 
Abbot,  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes ;  but  I  could  not 
but  know  him,  as  I  know  nobody  like  him  :  he  always 
seems  like  a  frightened  bird  —  so  hurried  in  his  man- 
ner and  conversation.  How  much  he  looked  like  some 
of  Timothy  Dexter's  wooden  men  —  at  commencement 
last  year;  it  came  across  my  mind  while 'he  was  sitting 
by  me  yesterday,  —  'twas  well  I  was  alone,  or  I  should 


JAMES   GORE    KING 
From  a   miniature   in  the   possession   of  A.  Gracie    King,  Esq. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       207 

have  certainly  laughed.  Frederic,1  I  suppose,  is  at 
home,  tho'  Mr.  A.  could  not  tell  me.  John2  and  Charles 
King  have  some  thought  of  going  to  Portland.  I  have 
told  them  they  had  better  go  some  other  time,  as  they 
will  find  Portland  so  dull  and  none  of  you  in  quite  so 
good  spirits.  James  is  here  and  they  return  with  him. 
You  ask  about  Jane  Watts  —  nobody  sees  her,  she  is 
entirely  confined  to  her  room.  Doctor  Burchea  at- 
tends her  now ;  her  cough  they  think  a  little  better, 
but  she  is  not  able  to  sleep  at  all  without  laudanum. 
I  have  no  expectation  she  will  recover,  the  family  seem 
to  have. 

As  to  news  — New  York  is  not  so  gay  as  last  Winter, 
few  balls  but  a  great  many  tea-parties.  I  believe  I  told 
you  Mrs.  Gillespie3  has  a  daughter,  and  still  more  news. 
You  never  wrote  me  anything  about  the  muslin  for 
Arixene  to  work  her  a  frock,  'tis  so  good  an  opportunity 
to  send  it  that  I  have  a  great  mind  to  get  it  notwith- 
standing. If  you  can,  send  the  things  I  left  to  Louisa 
Davis  in  Boston.  John  and  Charles  would  bring  them 
on  to  me.  Walter 4  will  want  the  shirts  as  soon  as  the 
weather  becomes  warm.  You  say  I  have  said  nothing 
of  Walter  in  any  of  my  letters  ;  he  is  so  hearty  and  well 
I  hardly  thought  of  bim  when  I  wrote  ;  he  has  not  had  a 

1  Frederic  Southgate,  her  youngest  brother. 

2  John,  Charles,  and  James  King,  sons  of  Rufus  King,  Mrs.  Bowne's 
cousins.     James  was  at  that  time  at  Harvard  College. 

8  Mrs.  Gillespie  (Amelia  Denning).  This  daughter  died  when  a  very 
young  girl  of  a  putrid  sore  throat. 

4  Walter  Bowne,  Jr.  Eldest  child  of  Walter  Bowne  and  Eliza  South- 
gate. 


208      A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

day's  sickness  since  I  returned.  I  send  him  out  walk- 
ing frequently  when  'tis  so  cold  it  quite  makes  the  tears 
come ;  he  trudges  along  with  leading  very  well  in  the 
street,  he  never  takes  cold.  He  goes  to  bed  at  6 
o'clock,  away  in  the  room  in  the  third  story  you  used  to 
sleep  in,  without  fire  or  candle,  and  there  he  sleeps  till 
Phcebe  goes  to  bed  to  him.  You  know  I  am  a  great 
enemy  to  letting  children  sleep  with  a  fire  in  the  room  ; 
'tis  the  universal  practice  here,  and  as  long  as  I  can 
avoid  it  I  never  mean  to  practice  it;  it  subjects  them  to 
constant  colds.  They  think  I  am  very  severe  to  suffer 
such  a  child  to  be  put  in  the  third  story  to  sleep  with- 
out a  fire.  I  presume  Aunt  King  and  family  are  all 
well ;  they  are  going  to  have  a  fine  waffle  party  on 
Tuesday.  I  wish  you  were  here  to  go,  for  the  boys  want 
to  have  a  fine  frolic.  Kitty  Bayard1  is  to  be  married  in 
April  to  Duncan  Campbell ;  all  engaged  since  Wolsey 
and  Susan  were  married.  Mary  Watts 2  is  engaged  to 
the  big  Doctor  Romaine, — that  is  quite  a  surprise  to 
every  one  :  this  is  rumor.  And  now  I  have  written  all 
the  trifling,  I  come  to  what  is  nearer  my  heart.  You 
are  not  half  particular  enough   about   Octavia.     Does 

1  Kitty  Bayard  married  Duncan  Campbell.  Her  sister  Susan  had  mar- 
ried Woolsey  Rogers,  December  i,  1807. 

2  Mary,  oldest  daughter  of  Robert  Watts  and  his  wife  Lady  Mary  Alex- 
ander, married  Dr.  Romaine,  who  left  her  a  widow  after  a  few  years  of 
married  life.  At  the  age  of  seventy-three  Mrs.  Romaine  married  her  first 
love,  Peter  Bertram  Cruger,  a  widower  with  eight  children.  Miss  Watts's 
engagement  to  Dr.  Romaine  was  a  surprise  to  her  friends,  who  knew  of 
her  attachment  to  Mr.  Cruger. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,        209 

Isabella  live  in  the  same  house  she  did  when  we  were 
there  ?  Has  Octavia  nobody  with  her  to  take  care  of 
her  child?  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  they  are  so  cheer- 
ful. Pappa  you  say  has  been  sick  but  is  quite  recov- 
ered. How  is  Mamma  this  winter,  quite  recovered  her 
health  ? 

Adieu.  E.  S.  B. 


Feb.  15. 

And  so  I  must  hear  of  all  the  important  events  of  the 
family  from  anybody  who  casually  may  have  it  in  their 
power  to  communicate  them.  Horatio  has  a  fine  son,  I 
hear,  of  which  I  am  very  glad;  congratulate  them  for 
me  —  do  they  mean  to  call  him  the  same  name  as  their 
other  little  boy  ?  I  suppose  you  have  heard  from  John 
and  Charles  King 1  since  they  have  been  in  Boston.  If 
you  would  send  the  little  bundle  for  them  to  bring  on  I 
should  be  very  glad,  and  I  wish  you  to  get  me  3  pr.  of 
Mr.  Smith's  little  white  worsted  socks,  such  as  I  bo't  for 
Walter,  only  two  or  three  sizes  larger,  big  enough  for 
him  next  winter,  —  don't  neglect  it,  for  I  wish  for  them 
very  much.     Let  them  be  full  lafge  for  a  child  3  years 

1  John  Alsop  King,  oldest  son  of  Rufus  King  and  his  wife  Mary  Alsop. 
John  A.  King  was  twice  governor  of  the  State  of  New  York.  He  married 
in  1810  Mary  Ray.  Charles  King,  the  second  son  of  Rufus  King,  for  some 
time  President  of  Columbia  College,  New  York.  He  married  twice :  first, 
Miss  Gracie,  and  for  his  second  wife  Miss  Low,  the  daughter  of  his  fa- 
ther's intimate  friend  Nicholas  Low. 


210       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

old.  How  are  all  the  family  ?  Octavia,  I  don't  hear 
from  anybody  ;  you  ought  to  write  once  a  fortnight  cer- 
tainly. Poor  Jane  Watts  is  very  low,  confined  to  her 
bed,  —  I  fear  she  will  never  go  out  again.  Adieu  ;  love 
to  all.  This  is  my  second  letter  since  I  heard  from  you. 
I  write  more  particularly  that  you  may  send  those 
things  by  the  boys.     4         Yours  ever,  E.  S.  B. 

To  Mrs.  Octavia  Browne. 


New  York,  March  30,  1806. 

My  Dear  Mother  : 

I  am  most  impatiently  looking  for  Miranda  and  hop- 
ing, tho'  I  dare  not  place  too  much  dependence  on  see- 
ing my  Father.  I  am  better  than  when  I  wrote  you 
before,  tho'  still  subject  to  these  faint  turns.  I  have  be- 
come more  used  to  them  and  they  don't  alarm  me.  I 
ride  frequently  and  take  the  air  every  fine  day  in  some 
way  or  other.  I  have  been  free  from  a  return  of  the 
nervous  headache  for  a  fortnight,  till  the  night  before 
last  I  had  a  return  of  the  numbness  and  pain,  tho'  not 
so  severe  as  the  last.  I  have  a  very  good  appetite  and 
look  very  fat  and  rosy,  but  really  am  very  weak  and  lan- 
guid. I  don't  know  why  I  look  so  much  better  than  I 
feel.  Mary  Murray  is  to  be  married  a  week  from  next 
Wednesday  ;  she  is  very  desirous  that  Miranda  should 
get  here ;  I  really  hope  she  may.  Perhaps  I  may  get 
courage  enough  to  go  myself  if  she  comes  in  time, 
otherwise  I  don't  believe  I  shall  venture ;  however,  'twill 


CHARLES    KING 
From  a  miniature  in  the  possession   of  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Marti 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       211 

depend  upon  my  feelings  at  the  time.  I  shall  look  out 
the  last  of  the  week  for  Pappa  and  Miranda  very  seri- 
ously. I  hope  they  are  on  their  way  now.  Uncle's 
oldest  son,  John  Alsop,  arrived  here  about  a  week  since ; 
he  seems  a  very  fine  young  man,  rather  taller  than  his 
Father,  —  he  will  be  a  second  Uncle  William,  for  he 
does  not  appear  to  have  half  got  his  height.  Charles 
King  has  gone  to  Holland.  E.  S.  B. 

Mrs.  Mary  Southgate. 


New  York,  April  27,  1806. 

My  Dear  Mother : 

Before  you  receive  this  my  Father  will  be  with  you. 
He  says  I  need  not  fear  any  thing,  that  I  am  in  a  very 
fair  way  of  doing  well ;  he  will  tell  you  all  the  particu- 
lars better  than  I  could  write.  He  got  quite  homesick, 
we  could  not  prevail  on  him  to  lengthen  his  visit  or  go 
to  the  Springs  and  return  here.  I  promised  to  let  you 
hear  from  me  once  a  week  how  I  got  along.  For  the 
last  3  days  I  have  been  finely,  for  me ;  the  fore  part  of 
the  day  I  am  often  very  faint  —  all  the  forenoon,  but 
generally  better  towards  evening.  'Tis  a  great  comfort 
to  me  to  have  Miranda  with  me,  as  I  am  a  great  part  of 
the  time  unfit  for  anything.  My  head  has  been  much 
more  clear  and  comfortable  for  the  last  few  days  than 
for  some  time  past.  Tell  Father  there  was  a  meeting 
called  last  evening  of  the  Federalists  in  the  city,  to 


212        A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

make  some  further  remonstrances  on  the  defenceless 
state  of  the  Port  of  New  York,  occasioned  by  an  acci- 
dent that  has  set  the  whole  City  in  an  uproar.  There 
are  3  British  Frigates  at  the  Hook,  a  few  miles  from  the 
City,  that  fire  upon  all  the  vessels  that  come  in  or  go 
out,  and  search  them.  They  have  sent  several  on  to 
Halifax,  and  yesterday  they  fired  in  a  most  wanton  man- 
ner upon  a  little  coaster  that  was  entering  the  harbor 
with  only  three  men  on  board,  and  before  they  had  time 
to  come  to  as  they  were  preparing  to  do,  they  fired 
again,  and  killed  one  of  the  men  dead  upon  the  spot,  — 
he  was  brought  up  and  the  body  exposed  to  view  on  one 
of  the  wharves,  where  several  thousand  people  were  col- 
lected to  see  it,  —  it  put  the  City  in  great  confusion,  and 
this  meeting  was  called  in  consequence  — where  Uncle 
made  a  very  elegant  speech.  I  am  very  sorry  Father 
had  not  been  here,  it  would  have  gratified  him.  'Tis 
the  first  time  he  has  spoken  in  public  since  his  return 
to  this  Country.  The  British  Consul  had  sent  several 
boats  of  provisions  down  to  the  frigates  —  which  as 
soon  as  'twas  known  the  Pilot-boats  went  after  and 
brought  them  all  back,  —  they  were  loaded  upon  carts 
and  carried  in  procession  thro'  the  streets  to  the  poor 
house,  attended  by  a  prodigious  mob  —  huzzaing,  and  the 
English  and  American  colors  fixed  on  the  carts ;  they 
demanded  the  Commander  of  the  frigate  to  be  given  up 
as  a  murderer  by  the  British  Consul,  —  he  replied  he 
had  no  power  over  him.  It  has  made  a  prodigious  noise 
in  the  City,  as  you  may  imagine.     So  much  for  Father ; 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       213 

—  I  shall  expect  to  hear  to-morrow  when  he  got  to 
Providence.     Adieu,  my  dear  Mother. 

Ever  your  affectionate  E.  S.  Bowne. 


May  18. 

By  way  of  punishment,  if  it  is  any,  I  have  denied  my- 
self the  pleasure  of  answering  your  letter  till  I  thought 
you  would  begin  really  to  wish  for  a  letter.  However, 
I  quite  want  to  hear  again,  and  as  there  is  little  hope  of 
that  until  I  answer  yours,  I'll  e'en  set  about  it  at  once. 
William  Weeks  told  me  he  saw  you  in  Portland  the  day 
before  he  left  there.  I  wonder  he  did  not  tell  you  he 
was  coming  to  New  York.  Mr.  Isaac  McLellan  is  here 
too  from  Portland.  You  did  not  write  to  me  half  par- 
ticulars ;  you  said  nothing  about  Arixene. 


Sunday,  May  25,  1806. 

After  a  week  has  elapsed  I  resume  my  pen  to  finish 
my  letter.  I  was  expecting  Mr.  Isaac  McLellan  to  call 
and  let  me  know  when  he  should  return,  as  I  intended 
writing  by  him,  but  he  has  left  town  without  my  know- 
ing it.  Now  for  news,  which  I  suppose  you  are  very 
anxious  to  hear.  In  the  first  place  —  Miss  Laurelia 
Dashaway  is  married  to  Mr.  Hawkes.  On  Saturday 
morning,  8  o'clock,  Trinity  Church  was  opened  on  pur- 
pose for  the  occasion  ;  something  singular,  as  it  would 
not  be  like  Miss  Laurelia.     But  what  do  you  think  — 


214       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Mr.  Grellet  has  taken  French  leave  of  New  York  — 
sailed  for  France  about  a  fortnight  ago,  without  any- 
body's knowing  their  intention  till  they  were  gone. 
There  are  many  conjectures  upon  the  occasion  not  very 
favorable  to  the  state  of  their  finances.  'Tis  said  his 
friends  were  very  averse  to  her  going  with  him.  If  she 
had  not,  I  suspect  she  must  have  sympathized  with 
Madame  Jerome  Buonoparte  and  many  other  poor  Ma- 
dames  that  have  founded  their  hopes  on  the  fidelity  of  a 
Frenchman.  Poor  Mrs.  Ogden  has  another  little  petti- 
coated  little  John  Murray  —  4  daughters!  —  I  am  sorry 
it  was  not  a  boy.  What  should  you  think  to  see  me 
come  home  without  Mr.  Bowne  ?  I  strongly  fear  he 
won't  have  it  in  his  power  to  leave  the  office  more  than 
once  in  the  Season  ;  if  so,  I  would  much  prefer  him  to 
come  for  me  in  the  Autumn.  However,  we  have  made 
no  arrangements  yet.  Walter  grows  such  a  playful  lit- 
tle rogue,  he  is  always  in  mischief ;  I  am  just  leaving  off 
his  caps  ;  I  want  his  hair  to  grow  before  his  Grand- 
mamma sees  him  ;  he  won't  look  so  pretty  without  his 
caps.  He  creeps  so  much  I  find  it  impossible  to  keep 
him  so  nice  as  I  used  to.  Poor  Harriet  Beam  I  think 
is  going  rapidly  in  a  decline,  she  has  been  confined  to 
her  room  5  or  6  weeks.  I  have  not  seen  the  Wattses 
this  some  time ;  they  are  gone  to  Passaic  Falls  with  a 
little  party,  —  Maria  Laight,  Mr.  Delort,  Robert  Harney, 
etc.  My  love  to  all ;  write  me  soon  particularly.  I  hope 
soon  to  be  with  you.     How  is  Sister  Boyd's  infant  ? 

Yours  ever,  E.  S.  Bowne. 

Miss  Miranda  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        215 


New  York,  Nov.  8,  1806. 

My  Dear  Octavia : 

I  am  quite  anxious  to  hear  good  news  from  you. 
Miranda  has  been  in  Jamaica  this  fortnight ;  she  has 
taken  a  frock  and  cap  along  with  her  to  work  for  you ; 
I  hope  she  will  have  it  finished  when  she  returns. 
Maria  Denning  is  married,  and  William  Duer  has  re- 
turned to  New  Orleans ;  left  her  with  her  friends  for 
the  winter.  Amelia  was  married  to  Mr.  Gillespie  in 
the  spring ;  lives  at  home  yet. 

Miss  Pell  was  married  last  week  to  Robert  Mac- 
Comb  ;  they  are  making  a  prodigious  dash.  I  went  to 
pay  the  bride's  visit  on  Friday;  they  had  an  elegant 
ball  and  supper  in  the  evening,  as  it  was  the  last  day  of 
seeing  Company ;  7  brides-maids  and  7  Bride-men,  most 
superb  dresses;  the  bride's  pearls  cost  1,500  dollars; 
they  spend  the  winter  in  Charleston.  Adieu !  Love 
to  all  friends,  and  tell  your  husband  to  write  me  imme- 
diately after  this  great  event.  I  am  looking  forward 
to  a  happy  summer  spent  among  you.  Best  love  to 
Isabella  and  family,  Horatio  and  family.  How  is 
Robert  Southgate  junr.?  That  is  as  it  ought  to  be. 
Pappa  is  pleased  I  dare  say. 

Yours  ever, 

Eliza  S.  Bowne. 


216       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

My  Dear  Mother : 

I  find  it  quite  in  vain  to  wait  for  a  letter  from 
Miranda,  and  she  has  left  me  to  chance  and  uncertainty 
to  know  whether  she  has  ever  arrived  at  Providence, 
but  luckily,  from  constant  enquiries,  I  have  learnt  she 
did  arrive  safe,  and  from  some  other  accidental  informa- 
tion, that  she  was  to  leave  Boston  last  Thursday  for 
home,  with  Judge  Thatcher.  I  presume  by  this  she  is 
with  you.  As  the  Spring  opens  I  begin  to  look  forward 
to  my  Eastern  visit.  Octavia's  boy  is  as  beautiful  as  a 
cherub,  I  hear. 

Saturday,  18th. 

Miranda : 

Mrs.  Derby  has  returned  from  Philadelphia,  and  in- 
tends leaving  here  for  Boston  on  Tuesday.  She  spent 
a  long  sociable  day  with  me  yesterday  and  I  found  it 
quite  a  treat ;  I  have  seen  so  little  of  her  but  in  mix't 
parties  that  it  hardly  seems  like  a  visit.  She  is  almost 
worn  out  with  dissipation,  and  I  greatly  fear  her  consti- 
tution has  suffered  an  injury  from  this  kind  of  life  it 
will  never  recover.  She  has  absolutely  refused  all  invi- 
tations since  her  return,  and  means  to  rest  for  a  few 
days  while  she  remains  here;  she  takes  one  of  our 
belles  on  to  Boston  with  her,  —  Miss  Fairlie ; l  Miranda 

1  Miss  Fairlee  was  the  daughter  of  Major  Fairlee  of  the  British  army, 
who  was  a  noted  wit.  Many  anecdotes  are  told  of  his  odd  sayings.  One 
of  them  was,  that  being  on  his  death-bed  he  was  told  by  his  physician  to 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       217 

knows  her.  Martha  had  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Sumner 
yesterday,  where  she  mentions  Miranda  leaving  there 
for  home  the  Sunday  before  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kins- 
man ;  I  am  really  hurt  at  her  unaccountable  silence.  I 
promised  to  tell  her  all  the  news  and  account  of  all 
the  parties  after  she  left  me,  but  I  was  quite  provoked 
at  her  not  writing.  Tell  her,  however,  that  there 
seems  no  end  to  the  gaiety  this  Spring  ;  it  does  not 
abate  as  yet  at  all.  The  day  after  she  left  me  I  paid 
the  bride's  visit  to  young  Mrs.  Murray ;  there  was  a 
prodigious  crowd,  a  hundred  and  fifty  at  least,  and 
many  never  sat  down  at  all.  Madame  Moreau1  wore 
a  long  black  velvet  dress  with  Pearl  ornaments,  look- 
ing elegantly.  The  next  day  I  dined  at  Uncle  Rufus 
King's  with  company ;  on  Tuesday  following,  went 
to  a  ball  at  Mrs.  Stevens';2  next  day,  a  ball  at  Miss 
Murray's,  very  pleasant ;  they  very  much  regretted  her 
not  being  here  ;  she  was  intended  to  be  one  of  the 
Bridesmaids ;  and  the  day  after  the  last  Assembly,  as 
you  may  suppose,  was  completely  tired  dancing  three 
nights  in  succession.  Last  Friday  I  was  at  a  ball  at 
the  Watts's,  and  the  week  before  at  Miss  Lyde's3  to  a 

take  yeast  as  medicine.  "What  for?"  said  the  Major;  "to  make  me 
rise  ?  "     Miss  Fairlee  married  Cooper  the  actor. 

1  The  wife  of  the  French  General  Moreau.  They  came  to  the  United 
States  in  1805,  but  he  returned  to  fight  with  the  Allies,  and  was  killed  in 
1813,  some  say  by  a  bullet  aimed  by  Napoleon  himself. 

2  Mrs.  Stevens  was  Miss  Rachel  Coxe,  of  Philadelphia,  and  had  mar- 
ried Colonel  Stevens,  of  Hoboken,  New  Jersey. 

8  Miss  Lyde  married  Jonathan  Ogden.  Among  her  children  were  Mrs. 
Robert  Goelet,  Mrs.  Dominick  Lynch  Lawrence,  and  Mrs.  Joseph  Ogden. 


218       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

ball,  and  Mrs.  Turnbull's  to  a  monstrous  tea-party. 
Yesterday  at  Mrs.  Morris'.  On  Monday  next  Aunt 
King  has  a  very  large  party.  On  Tuesday  I  go  to  Mrs. 
Stoughton's,  on  Thursday  to  Mrs.  Hopkins',  and  on 
Friday  dine  at  Mrs.  JBogert's,  and  this  evening  to  Mrs. 
Henderson's  to  a  ball.  I  think  it  will  be  one  of  the 
most  elegant  we  have  had  this  winter.  I  wish  Miranda 
was  here,  —  so  much  for  Miranda.  Adieu  !  I  have 
promised  to  go  shopping  with  Mrs.  Derby  this  morning 
and  'tis  growing  late.  I  look  forward  with  delight  to 
the  approaching  summer  spent  amidst  all  my  family. 
Give  my  affectionate  regard  to  all. 

Ever  yours,  E.  S.  Bowne. 


New  York,  Dec.  i,  1807. 

You  won't  write  a  line  I  find  without  a  punctual  an- 
swer, letter  for  letter.  Could  not  you  make  any  allow- 
ance for  domestic  engagements,  etc.,  etc.,  and  write  me 
at  present  two  for  one,  or  were  you  afraid  of  the  prece- 
dent ;  I  might  claim  as  a  right  hereafter  what  I  owed 
merely  to  your  indulgence.  I  have  anxiously  wished  to 
hear  again  from  little  William  Brown,  for,  notwithstand- 
ing your  flattering  accounts  of  his  returning  health,  I  felt 
so  fully  persuaded  he  would  never  recover  that  I  could 
not  but  think  he  would  relapse  again.  How  happy  I 
shall  be  to  hear  that  my  fears  are  groundless  !  If  you 
have  not  written  again  before  this  reaches  you,  lose  no 
time  but  write  at  once.     I  do  not  write  to  Octavia  till  I 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        219 

know  whether  she  is  in  Boston  or  Portland.  You  must 
make  it  a  rule,  Miranda,  to  write  me  once  a  fortnight 
whether  I  answer  or  not.  Charles  King  will  tell  you  all 
the  news  of  the  fashionable  world.  I  have  been  in  no 
parties  yet.  The  Theatre  is  quite  the  rage.  I  have 
been  several  times,  —  you  have  no  idea  how  much  it  is 
improved,  entirely  altered,  —  looks  light  and  gay,  —  a 
perfect  contrast  to  its  former  appearance.  Cooper 
draws  crowded  houses  every  night —  I  have  been  much 
delighted.  Mr.  Wolsey  Rogers'  approaching  nuptials 
seem  anticipated  as  the  opening  of  the  winter  campaign ; 
of  course  the  event  is  much  talked  of,  not  a  mantua- 
maker  in  the  city  but  will  tell  you  some  particulars  of 
the  bride's  wardrobe,  — length  of  her  train,  etc.,  etc. ;  — 
a  fine  lady  here,  as  Mustapha  says,  is  estimated  by  the 
length  of  her  tail.  If  it  was  not  for  using  a  most  homely 
proverb,  I  would  say  "Every  dog  has  his  day."  Here 
was  our  friend  John  Murray  and  his  bride  last  winter, 
making  all  ring ;  this  winter  quietly  settled  in  Nassau 
St.,  just  what  I  call  comfortable,  (you  have  not  seen  this 
new  play  about  comfortable.)  Poor  Sterlitz,  who  has 
no  way  to  discover  his  taste  or  judgment  but  by  finding 
fault  with  everything,  seems  quite  in  a  fuze  (is  there 
such  a  word  ?)  that  Mr.  Murray  prefers  his  own  comfort 
to  dashing  in  high  style.  I  suppose,  Mrs.  B.  begins 
to  feel  all  the  palpitations  and  trepidations  of  a  doating 
anxious  mother  in  introducing  her  favorite  daughter  to 
the  world.  The  next  winter  is  the  all-important  era  for 
the  exhibition.     Miss  A.,  in  my  opinion,  will  make  a 


220      A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

little  coquette  —  the  bud  seems  expanding  even  now,  — 
that  extreme  simplicity,  which  her  mother  encouraged 
by  always  talking  of  it  before  her,  as  if  she  was  too 
young  to  understand,  is  now  changing  for  an  affectation 
of  simplicity.  I  hope  she  will  correct  it ;  time  will  con- 
vince her  that  simplicity  is  only  charming  in  inexperi- 
enced youth,  or  rather  the  kind  of  simplicity  which 
she  possesses.  There  is  a  simplicity  which  gives  a  soft- 
ness, a  tone  (as  a  painter  would  say)  to  the  whole  char- 
acter, but  it  springs  uncontaminated  from  the  guileless 
purity  of  the  mind ;  all  affectation  of  this  serves  but 
as  a  tattered  veil  thro'  which  you  constantly  penetrate 
to  the  original  deformity  —  Where  have  I  rambled  ? 
Poor  Mrs.  Greene  is  dangerously  ill,  her  friends  have 
little  hope  of  her  recovery.  On  Saturday  she  was  not 
expected  to  live  the  day,  —  bled  several  quarts  at  the 
lungs ;  she  is  a  favorite  with  all  who  know  her,  a  most 
valuable  woman.  On  business  :  —  Mamma  told  me 
something  about  getting  muslin  for  Arixene  —  a  frock  to 
work,  but  I  have  forgotten  whether  she  afterwards  told 
me  to  get  it  or  not.  I  can  get  very  pretty  for  2  dollars 
or  2  1-2 ;  let  me  know.  Tell  Octavia  I  received  the 
little  hat  which  Mr.  Browne  bo't  for  me  in  Boston,  and 
shall  send  the  little  tub  and  the  rest  of  the  money,  as 
soon  as  I  know  she  is  in  Boston.  Fashions  :  —  Ladies 
wear  fawn-colored  coats  and  bonnets  of  the  same 
trimmed  with  velvet  trimming,  same  color  with  lappets, 
cape  and  inner  waistcoat.  If  I  could  find  an  opportu- 
nity I  should  send  you  a  bonnet  and  Mamma  a  cap. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       221 

Adieu,  — tell  Arixene    to  write  to  me.      James  King 
writes  to  Charles  King  he  liked  Arixene  best  of  all  the 
Cousins. 
To  Miss  Miranda  Southgate. 


New  York,  Dec.  13,  1807. 

I  have  been  waiting  some  time  to  hear  you  were  in 
Boston,  but  as  I  have  not  heard  from  any  of  the  family 
for  some  weeks  I  shall  write  you  and  direct  to  Portland. 
I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  little  William  continues  to 
recover  fast,  for  Mrs.  Derby  writes  me  still  later  than 
Miranda  that  he  is  almost  recovered.  How  happy  you 
must  feel !  None  but  those  who  have  suffered  the  anx- 
iety can  conceive  the  happiness  of  such  a  change.  I 
don't  hear  half  often  enough  from  you.  Miranda  writes 
but  seldom.  Charles  King  told  me  last  evening,  in  his 
last  letter  from  her  she  says  she  is  going  to  spend  part 
of  the  winter  in  Boston  with  you, — from  that  Icon- 
elude  you  intend  going  to  housekeeping  before  Spring. 
I  have  been  making  a  plan  for  you  to  make  me  a  visit 
next  Spring.  I  think  there  can  be  no  objection  to  it; 
your  husband  can  make  arrangements  to  leave  Boston 
for  a  month  or  a  few  weeks,  I  am  sure.  The  accommo- 
dations in  the  stage  to  Providence  are  so  good,  you  can 
go  in  half  a  day  —  take  passage  in  a  Packet  and  be  in 
New  York  in  three  days  with  ease.  You  can  either 
bring  William  with  you,  which  I  should  wish  you  to,  or 
leave  him  if  you  prefer  it.     Indeed  I  can  see  no  objec- 


\3RAJ^ 


222       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

tion  to  the  plan.  Your  friends  in  New  York  have  made 
particular  enquiries  respecting  you.  Mary  Murray  says 
you  have  quite  given  her  up,  that  she  has  not  received 
a  line  from  you  for  some  time  —  I  don't  remember  how 
long.  I  believe  I  told  you  Mrs.  Ogden  had  lost  her 
youngest  child,  about  5  months  old.  Harriet  Beam, 
whom  I  believe  you  knew,  died  last  week,  —  melan- 
choly, so  young.  Mrs.  Derby  writes  me  her  Father  is 
still  far  from  strong  and  firm,  tho'  much  better ;  very 
probable  his  constitution  will  never  entirely  recover  this 
shock.  I  am  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Browne  for  purchasing 
the  little  hat  for  Walter.  It  was  not  the  kind  I  meant, 
however,  —  those  here  are  worn  only  by  girls,  square 
crowns  altogether  for  boys.  Give  my  best  love  to  Ho- 
ratio and  Nabby,  Isabella  and  husband,  Arixene  —  I 
want  to  send  her  a  pattern  Jo  work  a  frock  in  ;  I  have  a 
very  pretty  one,  with  but  little  work  on.  Adieu ;  write 
me  very  particularly  about  William.  E.  S.  Bowne. 

To  Mrs.  Wm,  Browne  (Octavia  Southgate). 


New  York,  Jan.  13,  1808. 

I  have  been  in  daily  expectation  of  hearing  farther 
from  you,  my  dear  Miranda.  I  received  a  letter  from 
Octavia  by  the  same  mail  that  brought  me  yours,  inform- 
ing me  of  the  melancholy  change  in  their  prospects, 
which  I  answered  immediately  and  used  every  argument 
I  thought  could  console  her  at  such  a  time.  Her  firm- 
ness and  resolution  in  relating  the  particulars,  her  rea- 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       223 

soning  on  the  subject,  displayed  the  real  superiority  of 
her  mind.  She  has  had  severe  trials  ;  the  danger  of  her 
child,  and  now  this  stroke ;  I  tremble  when  I  think  with 
how  much  less  firmness  I  should  probably  have  acted 
in  the  same  trials.  I  am  extremely  anxious  to  hear  all 
the  particulars  of  their  failure,  how  Mr.  Browne  bears  it, 
where  they  will  spend  their  winter.  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  Octavia  and  her  child  would  come  and  stay  with 
me  until  Mr.  Browne  could  arrange  his  affairs  a  little. 
But  I  suppose  'twould  be  in  vain  to  urge  her  to  leave 
her  husband  at  this  time.  You  mention  that  you  were 
in  hopes  Papa  would  secure  Octavia's  furniture  for  her. 
I  wish  you  would  write  me  particularly  if  he  did.  Oc- 
tavia writes  me  he  attached  all  the  personal  property  he 
knew  of  at  the  time.  Pappa  too  I  fear  will  be  quite  a 
sufferer  by  their  failure.  I  hear  Webster  is  gone,  —  he, 
I  think,  had  money  of  my  Father's.  Mr.  Bowne  has  al- 
ways thought  he  played  rather  a  hazardous  game  in  let- 
ting out  money  in  that  way.  I  hope  he  is  not  materi- 
ally injured,  — he  will,  at  any  rate,  have  the  consolation 
to  know  that  the  education  of  his  children  is  principally 
accomplished  ;  he  will  always  have  enough  to  live  with 
comfort  and  ease,  and  as  to  leaving  a  great  deal,  I  think 
'tis  very  immaterial.  I  am  glad  to  find  his  stock  here 
has  produced  a  very  good  dividend  this  month.  I  hope 
this  won't  depress  his  spirits  any,  —  old  people  feel  the 
loss  of  property  much  more  than  younger  ones.  How- 
ever, Papa's  is  nothing  to  mention  at  these  times,  as  he 
is  not  in  debt,  has  a  good  farm,  and  will  always  have  all 


224       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

the  comforts  of  life  ;  indeed,  I  think  'twill  have  a  good 
effect.  He  has  always  been  determined  on  leaving  such 
a  sum  untouched,  and  from  that  darling  object  has  de- 
prived himself  of  the  comfort  of  a  comfortable  house  for 
many  years  past.  Accident  has  interfered  with  the  ful- 
filment of  his  plan  ;  he  will  now  enjoy  what  he  has  left 
without  thinking  of  leaving  just  so  much  ;  his  children 
are,  or  soon  will  be  grown  up,  and  he  ought  to  have  no 
other  care  but  to  enjoy  what  he  has  dearly  earned,  now 
in  his  old  age.  I  am  sure  all  his  children  most  heartily 
wish  it,  if  he  should  not  leave  a  farthing  for  them.  Old 
Mr.  Codwise  has  failed,  a  dreadful  thing  for  so  old  a 
man.  Mr.  Macomb  [Ann  and  Robert's  father]  is  gone 
too  ;  all  the  Franklins  too,  and  a  great  many  others  I 
do  not  now  recollect.  Adieu ;  write  me  immediately  and 
tell  me  every  particular.  My  love  to  Arixene;  is  she  at 
Miss  Martin's,  for  I  have  never  heard  ? 

E.  S.  Bowne. 

Miss  Miranda  Southgate. 


Boston,  December  21,  1808. 

My  best  Friends  : 

In  consequence  of  a  letter  from  Mr.  Bowne,  received 
this  day,  I  have  to  inform  you  that  instead  of  proceed- 
ing to  Scarborough,  my  next  journey  is  to  New  York. 
He  writes  me  that  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  King  they  have 
concluded  it  will  be  best  for  Eliza  to  go  to  Charleston, 
South  Carolina,  in  order  to  avoid  the  severity  of  our 
winter  ;  that  he  is  under  the  necessity  of  remaining  in 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       225 

New  York  till  February  himself,  and  that  he  wishes  me 
to  return  and  go  on  with  Eliza  and  Octavia  as  soon  as  I 
can.  As  I  have  nothing  of  consequence  to  prevent  me, 
I  shall  leave  this  in  a  day  or  two  for  New  York,  and 
shall  be  fully  satisfied  if  I  can  render  them  the  least  ser- 
vice by  my  attentions.  With  sentiments  of  the  high- 
est esteem  and  regard, 

I  am  your  obedient  servant  W.  Browne. 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Southgate. 


New  York,  Dec.  27,  1808. 

You  are  anxious,  my  Dear  Mother,  to  hear  from  my 
own  hand  how  I  am.  Octavia  has  told  you  all  my  com- 
plaints :  my  cough  is  extremely  obstinate,  I  have  occa- 
sionally a  little  fever,  tho'  quite  irregular  and  sometimes 
a  week  without  any.  I  have  a  new  Physician  to  attend 
me  ;  he  is  a  Frenchman  of  great  celebrity,  particularly 
in  Pulmonary  complaints,  and  has  been  wonderfully  suc- 
cessful in  the  cure  of  coughs ;  he  keeps  me  on  a  milk 
diet,  but  allows  me  to  eat  eggs  and  oysters.  He  does 
not  give  any  opiates  ;  Paregoric  and  Laudanum  he  en- 
tirely disapproves  of  ;  he  gives  no  medicine  but  a  decoc- 
tion of  Roots  and  Flowers  ;  —  the  Iceland  Moss  or  Lichen 
made  in  a  tea  he  gives  a  great  deal  of,  and  for  cough  I 
take  a  white  Pectoral  lotion  he  calls  it,  made  princi- 
pally of  White  Almonds,  Gum  Arabic,  Gum  Tragacanth 
(or  something  like  it),  the  Syrup  of  Muskmelon  seeds. 
He  thinks  I  am  much  better  already.     I  have  no  pain 


226       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

at  all,  and  have  not  had  any.  My  cough  seems  to  be  all 
my  disorder.  He  thinks  he  can  cure  that ;  indeed  he 
speaks  with  perfect  confidence,  and  says  he  has  no  doubt 
as  soon  as  I  get  to  warmer  weather,  my  cough  will  soon 
leave  me.  Mr.  Browne  got  here  last  night,  and  we  shall 
probably  sail  by  Sunday  at  farthest.  Octavia  will  write 
particularly.  You  will  hear  from  me,  my  Dear  Mother, 
often,  —  at  present  my  mind  seems  so  occupied;  leaving 
my  children,  preparing  to  go,  and  making  arrangements 
to  shut  up  my  house.  'Tis  quite  a  trial  to  leave  my  lit- 
tle ones  ;  I  leave  them  at  their  Grandmother's.  My  lit- 
tle Mary1  has  a  wet-nurse ;  she  is  a  fine,  lively  child,  and 
thrives  fast.  Adieu,  my  Dear  Mother;  I  did  not  think  I 
could  have  written  half  as  much ;  love  to  all  my  friends. 

Eliza  S.  Bowne. 


Charleston,  South  Carolina,  Jan.  i,  1809. 

Our  most  esteemed  Friends  : 

We  have  now  been  in  the  City  a  week.  We  find  that 
Eliza  has  gained  a  little  strength  since  she  arrived,  and 
that  her  cough  is  not  quite  so  distressing  as  before  we 
left  New  York.  She  complains  of  no  pain,  but  her  fever 
and  night  sweats  continue  to  trouble  her  every  other 
day  and  night,  as  was  the  case  before.  She  can  walk 
about  her  room  with  ease;  and  she  rides  when  the 
weather  is  fine,  which  she  is  much  pleased  with,  and  no 
doubt  it  is  of  great  service  to  her.  The  streets  are  en- 
tirely of  sand,  as  smooth  as  possible,  no  pavements,  not 

1  Mrs.  John  Lawrence. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       227 

a  stone  to  be  seen,  which  renders  it  very  easy  riding  for 
her.  It  is  as  warm  as  our  first  of  May,  (if  not  the  mid- 
dle,) and  when  the  weather  is  fair,  the  air  is  clear,  very 
mild  and  refreshing.  The  change  is  so  great  between 
this  and  New  York  that  I  cannot  help  thinking  it  must 
have  a  great  and  good  effect  on  Eliza.  I  find  as  to  my- 
self that  my  cough  is  done  away  entirely,  and  I  had  a 
little  of  it  most  all  the  time  at  home  in  winter.  Octavia 
has  certainly  grown  fat,  and  our  little  Frederic  is  very 
well  indeed.  Eliza  eats  hominy,  rice  and  milk,  eggs  and 
oysters  cooked  in  various  ways,  vegetables  too,  which 
we  find  in  great  perfection  here;  fruit  is  plenty  of  almost 
every  description.  The  oranges  raised  here  are  not 
sweet  but  are  very  large.  Their  olives,  grapes,  and  figs 
are  excellent.  Their  meats  and  fish  are  not  so  good  as 
ours.  Their  Poultry  is  fine  ;  a  great  plenty  of  Venison, 
wild  ducks,  and  small  sea-fowl ;  green  peas  we  shall 
have  in  about  a  month;  so  that,  beside  the  change  of  cli- 
mate, we  have  many  of  the  luxuries  of  a  Northern  sum- 
mer. Uncle  King  gave  us  letters  to  Gen.  C.  C.  Pinck- 
ney  and  his  brother  Major  Thomas  Pinckney,  —  both  of 
them  being  out  of  town  at  their  plantation  ;  their  sister, 
Mrs.  Hovey,  received  the  letters  and  has  been  very  at- 
tentive and  kind  to  us  all.  She  is  a  widow,  about  55  I 
should  judge,  of  the  first  respectability,  and  appears  a 
very  pleasant,  amiable  and  cheerful  old  lady.  She 
sends  some  nice  things  to  Eliza  almost  every  day.  Her 
daughters,  Mrs.  Rutledge,  two  Miss  Pinckneys  (daugh- 
ters of  the  General),  Mrs.  Gilchrist  and  daughter,  Mr. 


228       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

and  Mrs.  Mannigault,  Mrs.  Middleton,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Izard,1  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dessault  and  Mr.  Heyward  make 
an  extensive  acquaintance  for  us.  They  all  seem  very 
kind  and  hospitable  to  us,  plain  and  open  in  their  man- 
ners, and  yet  the  most  genteel  and  easy.  Eliza  has 
seen  only  Mrs.  Hovey,  Mrs.  Rutledge,  and  the  two 
Miss  Pinckneys,  but  she  thinks  in  a  few  days  to  be  able 
to  receive  short  visits  from  a  few  of  her  friends,  and 
even  thinks  it  may  be  of  consequence  to  enliven  her. 
She  rides  whenever  the  weather  is  fine,  and  is  very  much 
pleased  with  the  appearance  of  everything  growing  in 
the  gardens  here  so  like  our  June.  We  have  had  one 
visit  from  a  Physician  only ;  he  thinks  taking  a  little 
blood  from  her  would  be  of  service,  but  she  has  not  yet 
consented.  He  approved  of  her  diet  and  of  the  Iceland 
Moss  tea  which  was  recommended  at  New  York,  and 
which  is  said  here  to  have  had  a  great  effect  in  remov- 
ing complaints  of  the  cough.  Mrs.  Mannigault  told  us 
yesterday  she  found  immediate  relief  from  it  after  she 
had  been  sick  a  long  time.  We  expect  Mr.  Bowne  in 
the  course  of  a  fortnight,  and  then  I  expect  to  return 

1  Ralph  Izard  and  his  wife,  the  granddaughter  of  Etienne  de  Land,  a 
Huguenot  nobleman  who  came  to  this  country  in  1686.  Mr.  Izard  had 
been  appointed  Commissioner  from  Congress  to  the  grand-duchy  of 
Tuscany,  and  had  performed  other  important  diplomatic  services.  He 
was  one  of  the  first  United  States  senators  from  South  Carolina.  Mrs. 
Mannigault's  husband  was  the  grandson  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Izard.  She  was 
related  to  the  Misses  Watts  of  New  York,  and  for  their  sake  was  particu- 
larly attentive  and  kind  to  their  friend  Mrs.  Bowne.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hey- 
ward were  the  parents  of  the  celebrated  beauty  Miss  Elizabeth  Heyward, 
who  married  James  Hamilton. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       229 

toward  Scarborough  immediately.  We  hope  to  hear 
from  you  in  a  few  days  ;  not  a  word  have  we  yet  from 
New  York  since  we  arrived.  Our  darling  boy  we  think 
we  see  every  day  playing  about  us,  without  thinking  who 
admires  him  at  the  distance  of  I  ioo  miles. 
Our  best  wishes  attend  you  always. 

Affectionately,  W.  Browne. 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Southgate. 

Charleston,  Jan.  28,  1809. 

Dear  Caroline,  I  send  by  Capt.  Crowel  a  little  pair  of 
shoes  for  Mary,  a  little  Cuckoo  toy  for  Walter,  and  a 
tumbler  of  Orange  Marmalade  for  Mother.  I  have  had 
only  one  letter  from  New  York  since  I  have  been  here, 
and  that  from  Mary  Perkins,  not  one  line  from  my  hus- 
band. I  can  tell  you  nothing  flattering  of  my  health  :  I 
am  very  miserable ;  at  present  I  have  a  kind  of  inter- 
mittent Fever ;  this  afternoon  I  shall  take  an  emetic, 
and  hope  a  good  effect  How  are  my  dear  little  ones  ? 
—  I  hope  not  too  troublesome.  Octavia  is  in  fine 
health  and  grows  quite  fat  for  her.  Frederic  has  been 
unusually  troublesome.  My  dear  little  Walter  !  —  I 
hardly  trust  myself  to  think  of  them,  —  precious  chil- 
dren —  how  they  bind  me  to  life !  Adieu.  I  have  a 
bad  headache  and  low-spirited  to-day.  Eliza. 

Caroline  Bowne  (with  2  small  parcels), 
No.  288  Pearl  Street, 
Blazing  Star.  New  York. 

This  appears  to  be  the  last  letter  written  by  Mrs. 
Bowne.     (M.  K.  L.) 


230       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

From  Mrs.  William  Browne  to  Mrs.  King. 

Charleston,  February  2,  1809. 

I  have  been  waiting  day  after  day,  my  Dear  Aunt,  in 
the  hope  of  having  something  pleasant  to  communicate 
to  you,  but  I  do  very  much  fear  I  shall  now  have  noth- 
ing, if  ever,  to  say  about  our  Dear  Eliza  but  will  give 
you  pain.  I  sat  down  to  write  to  you  without  knowing 
what  to  say.  I  have  been  so  in  the  habit  of  dissembling 
lately  that  I  can  hardly  throw  it  off,  for  when  I  write 
my  Father  and  Mother  everything  is  so  glossed  over, 
'tis  impossible  to  come  at  the  truth.  You  know  not 
how  I  am  affected,  my  Dear  Aunt.  I  fear  I  am  doing 
wrong  in  deceiving  them,  for  it  is  my  firm  opinion  she 
never  will  be  well.  Do  advise  me,  tell  me  what  I  ought 
to  do.  I  think  to  you  I  may  say  the  truth  —  I  think 
she  has  been  growing  sicker  every  hour  since  she  left 
New  York.  Her  voyage  had  a  singular  effect  upon  her: 
she  suffered  but  little  from  seasickness,  but  every  bad 
symptom  she  had  before  seemed  increased  ;  she  coughed 
a  great  deal  and  very  hard,  her  fever  and  night  sweats 
were  excessive.  You  may  imagine  she  was  much  weak- 
ened ;  but  I  hoped  this  was  a  temporary  thing,  and  a 
few  days  of  quiet  and  of  rest  would  restore  her ;  but  in- 
stead of  that,  directly  after  our  arrival  a  sort  of  inter- 
mittent fever  took  place,  she  had  a  regular  chill  and 
fever  every  day,  she  lost  her  strength  very  much,  no 
appetite  at  all.  This  last  four  or  five  days  her  disorder 
wears  another  appearance.  'Tis  now  Thursday.  On 
Sunday  Dr.  Irvine  ordered  her  to  take  Quashy  in  order 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago,       231 

to  prevent  a  chill;  she  took  it  according  to  his  direction 
—  it  brought  on  her  fever  at  I  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  it  never  left  her  till  12  o'clock  at  night,  it  ab- 
solutely raged  all  day.  Since  then  she  has  had  no  night 
sweats,  no  chill,  but  her  cough  and  fever  very  much  in- 
creased. Her  nerves  are  extremely  disordered ;  such  a 
tremor  that  to-day  she  cannot  feed  herself  at  all.  She 
is  so  weak  and  exhausted  that  she  cannot  walk  alone. 
'Tis  now  11  o'clock —  I  am  sitting  by  her  side,  and  she 
is  still  coughing  and  in  such  a  hot  fever  she  can  bear 
nothing  to  touch  her.  I  have  not  asked  her  Physician's 
opinion  concerning  her;  'tis  unnecessary  I  feel,  I  know 
what  it  must  be.  Yet  is  it  not  strange  she  keeps  up 
her  spirits  ?  She  is  looking  forward  with  the  greatest 
anxiety  to  warm  weather.  God  grant  it  may  not  be 
too  late  !  Dr.  Irvine  was  the  Physician  Mrs.  Hovey 
recommended ;  he  is  indisposed  and  has  left  his  patients 
in  the  care  of  Dr.  Barrow.  The  exchange  has  pleased 
us  very  much,  for  Dr.  Barrow  is  considered  quite  as 
skilful,  and  is  extremely  kind  and  fatherly  in  his  man- 
ners, indeed  he  reminds  us  so  strongly  of  our  Dear 
Father  that  we  already  love  him  very  much. 


February  3. 

Poor  Eliza  had  a  most  distressing  night  last  night.  She 
coughed  so  long  that  she  was  entirely  exhausted ;  her 
fever  was  very  high,  and  she  has  scarcely  spoken  a  loud 
word  to-day.     Her  nerves  are  in  a  dreadful  state.     I  in- 


232       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

quired  of  Dr.  Barrow  what  he  thought  of  her  situation  ; 
he  says  he  can  say  nothing  encouraging.  He  said  the 
disorder  had  taken  great  hold  upon  her,  and  had  shat- 
tered her  nerves  in  a  terrible  manner.  He  very  much 
fears  a  nervous  fever,  —  that  her  pulse  was  very  bad,  as 
nearly  as  he  could  count  up  to  150.  Is  it  not  very  evi- 
dent from  his  being  so  candid,  my  Dear  Aunt,  that  he 
has  but  little  or  no  hope  of  her  recovery  ?  And  yet  so 
strongly  do  I  sympathize  in  every  feeling  of  hers,  that 
seeing  her  easier  and  more  comfortable  this  evening 
has  renewed  my  hopes  and  put  me  quite  in  spirits.  She 
has  been  much  better  this  afternoon  and  evening,  less 
fever,  less  tremor  upon  her  nerves,  and  since  she  has 
been  in  bed  has  had  no  bad  coughing  spell.  The  mail 
went  to  the  Northward  to-day.  I  have  so  little  time  to 
write  that  I  have  missed  it.  I  will  let  you  know  to- 
morrow how  she  is,  and  the  next  day  is  post-day  again. 
I  know  what  a  kind  interest  you  and  my  uncle  take 
in  our  dear  Eliza,  and  I  know  I  cannot  be  too  minute. 
Our  friends  here  are  kinder  than  I  can  express  to  you. 
It  seems  sometimes  as  though  we  were  among  our  own 
relations.  They  think  of  every  little  thing  for  Eliza's 
comfort  and  convenience  that  I  could  myself. 


Monday,  February  6. 

This  morning  Eliza  was  better,  my  Dear  Aunt,  than 
she  has  been  for  a  week  past.  Her  voice  has  returned 
and  she  appears  stronger  in  every  respect.     Yesterday 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       233 

and  last  night  she  had  a  little  fever,  this  morning  is  de- 
lightful and  she  is  going  to  ride.  You  shall  hear  again 
from  us  before  long.  I  know  Mrs.  Bogert  will  need  no 
apology,  I  am  sure,  for  my  not  writing.  The  repetition 
of  such  symptoms  are  distressing  to  me  beyond  expres- 
sion. Your  affectionate  niece  O.  S.  Browne. 


To  Mrs.  Bowne. 

New  York,  Feb'y  4,  1809. 

Your  letter,  my  love,  of  the  13th  and  14th  has  com- 
forted me.  You  must  keep  up  your  spirits;  you  will 
do  well,  Dr.  Bergere  says ;  attacks  similar  to  yours  are 
not  of  the  dangerous  kind  that  some  think;  he  approves 
of  your  taking  the  Lychen  again.  I  have  sent  a  bundle 
from  Mr.  King  by  Capt.  Slocum,  who  sails  to-morrow. 
I  am  distressed  I  cannot  go  with  him,  but  so  it  is.  It 
is  next  to  impossible  I  should  leave  here  till  about  the 
25th  of  this  month.  Mr.  Jenkins,  my  assistant,  is  ab- 
sent, and  I  cannot  leave  the  office  until  he  returns  with- 
out relinquishing  it  altogether,  and  I  have  most  of  my 
houses  to  let  this  month,  those  I  have  lately  built  in- 
cluded, and  which  are  not  finished,  but  I  am  determined 
to  leave  here  in  all  this  month.  I  hope  you  have  a 
comfortable  place  now ;  what  abominable  lodgings  the 
first  were  !  Don't  mind  the  expense  :  get  everything  and 
do  everything  you  like,  we  can  afford  it.  I  wish  my 
presence  in  this  place  could  as  well  be  dispensed  with, 
but  so  it  is.     I  think  it  right  you  should  have  a  Physi- 


234       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

cian.    I  will  bring  the  things  you  mention  ;  our  children 
are  well.  Ever,  Walter  Bowne. 

The  Ship  —  General  Eaton  —  has  not  yet  arrived,  I 
will  write  to  Mr.  Brown  by  this  vessel  if  I  have  time ;  if 
not,  by  mail  on  Monday  or  Tuesday. 

(With  a  bundle  of  Lychen  for  E.  S.  B.) 


The  following  letter  from  Mr.  Rufus  King  to  his 
nephew  Horatio  Southgate,  will  show  how  much  alarm 
was  felt  about  Mrs.  Bowne's  health. 

Dear  Sir  :  New  York,  February  9,  1809. 

I  have  to  beg  your  excuse  that  I  have  so  long  delayed 
my  answer  to  your  letter  written  I  believe  in  November. 
The  Plants  were  a  long  time  on  their  way,  and  did  not 
arrive  till  Christmas,  when  we  had  a  few  days  of  mild 
weather,  which  enabled  us  to  put  them  in  the  ground. 
Mr.  Mars  is  entitled  to  credit  for  the  manner  and  care 
with  which  the  Plants  were  packed,  and  altho'  they 
were  much  longer  out  of  the  ground  than  they  shd  have 
been,  I  am  in  hopes  that  many  of  them  were  saved. 
Inclosed  I  send  you  a  Post-note  (payable  to  your  order) 
on  the  Boston  Branch  Bank  for  47  dollars,  being  the 
amount  of  Mars's  account,  and  I  beg  you  to  accept  my 
acknowledgments  for  the  trouble  you  have  given  your- 
self in  this  Business.  Should  there  be  an  opportunity 
direct  from  Portland  to  N.  York  in  the  Spring,  any  time 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.      235 

in  Ap1  or  May  would  do  (for  that  is  the  true  season, 
even  on  to  the  middle  of  June,  to  remove  evergreens), 
I  wish  Mars  to  send  me  a  few  more  spruces,  one  mod- 
erate sized  Box,  together  with  some  of  the  small  Ever- 
green shrubs  found  in  the  woods  and  pastures,  and 
which  I  remember  abounded  in  the  Pasture  of  Knight's 
Farm,  and  which  we  called  laurel,  or  sheep  poison. 
Any  other  small  plants  may  be  added  to  fill  up  the  Box. 

We  yesterday  heard  from  Mrs.  Bowne,  who  had  re- 
covered from  the  fatigue  of  her  voyage,  and  thought 
herself  something  better.  I  am  in  hopes  that  the  soft 
weather  of  an  early  spring  will  do  more  for  her  than 
medicine  could  have  effected  in  the  rude  weather  of  our 
winter  and  spring.  I  ought  not  to  conceal  from  you, 
tho'  I  think  you  shd  not  unnecessarily  increase  the  anx- 
iety of  your  mother,  that  I  am  not  free  from  apprehen- 
sions regarding  your  Sister's  complaint ;  it  is  so  flatter- 
ing and  insidious,  that  I  do  not  place  the  same  Re- 
liance upon  favorable  Reports  wh  in  any  other  case  I 
shd  be  inclined  to  do.  I  by  no  means  think  that  she 
has  no  chance  of  recovery.  On  the  contrary,  I  have 
the  satisfaction  to  believe  and  expect  that  she  will  re- 
gain her  accustomed  good  health.  Mrs.  Browne's  being 
with  her  is  a  very  important  circumstance  in  a  case  in 
which  good  nursing  and  careful  attention  is  of  so  much 
consequence. 

With  sincere  Regards,  I  remain,  Dr  Sir, 

Yr  obliged  serv't,  Rufus  King. 

Horatio  Southgate,  Esqr.,  Portland,  Maine. 


236       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Charleston,  February  21,  1809. 

I  will  permit  no  one  but  myself  to  transmit  to  you 
the  dreadful  intelligence  this  letter  will  convey  to  you, 
my  dear  Parents.  A  good  and  merciful  God  will  not 
forsake  you  at  this  awful  moment.  Our  dear  Eliza  is 
freed  from  her  earthly  sufferings  and  I  humbly  trust 
is  now  a  blessed  spirit  in  Heaven !  I  offer  you  no 
consolation;  I  commit  you  into  the  hands  of  a  Good 
God,  who  has  supported  me  when  my  strength  failed 
me.  She  had  her  senses  at  intervals  for  the  few  days 
last  of  her  illness.  She  spoke  of  her  approaching 
change  with  great  composure,  said  she  had  thought 
much  of  it,  that  she  trusted  in  God  for  future  happi- 
ness with  great  satisfaction  and  confidence ;  wished  her 
time  might  come  speedily  that  she  might  be  relieved 
from  the  pain  of  seeing  her  distressed  friends.  She 
suffered  with  wonderful  patience ;  never  murmured. 
At  the  very  last  she  looked  the  satisfaction  she  had  not 
the  power  to  speak.  At  2  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon 
was  this  most  afflicting  scene.  Octavia  had  great  forti- 
tude to  sit  by  her  when  she  could  speak  only  with  her 
eyes.  She  knew  us,  and  listened  with  apparent  satis- 
faction to  a  prayer  I  read  only  an  hour  before  the  sad 
moment.  It  was  a  day  of  trial  with  us  most  severe. 
With  much  affection  and  regard  to  all, 

W.  Browne. 

Poor  Mr.  Bowne  has  not  arrived. 

To  Mr.  &  Mrs.  Southgate. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.        237 

Charleston,  March  12,  1809. 

I  hope,  my  dear  Miranda,  this  will  be  the  last  letter 
you  will  receive  from  me  at  Charleston.  Poor  Mr. 
Bowne  arrived  here  on  Thursday.  Not  a  word  had  he 
heard,  and  owing  to  his  having  left  New  York  he  had  not 
received  a  single  very  alarming  letter.  He  was  entirely 
unprepared  for  the  shock  which  awaited  him  ;  never  did 
I  pity  any  one  so.  He  is  indeed  borne  down  with  the 
weight  of  his  grief.  But  the  violence  I  dreaded  I  see 
nothing  of.  There  is  no  judging  from  the  effect  little 
troubles  have  upon  people,  how  they  will  bear  great 
ones.  I  know  it  by  myself — I  see  it  in  him.  He  is 
more  composed  to-day,  and  we  are  making  arrangements 
to  get  away.  He  is  much  gratified  that  we  waited  here 
for  him,  which  we  had  some  doubt  about  on  account  of 
the  great  expense  in  these  houses.  The  Minerva,  a  very 
fine  Packet,  arrived  from  New  York  yesterday.  We 
shall  return  in  her.  She  will  go  in  the  course  of  a  week 
or  ten  days.  What  a  melancholy  voyage  !  But  yet  I 
will  not  think  so.  I  am  going  to  my  dear  father  and 
mother,  my  kind  sisters,  —  indeed,  'tis  a  delightful 
thought. 

Your  sister, 

O.  Browne. 


238       A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago. 

Among  the  letters  which  were  so  carefully  preserved 
by  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Lawrence,  was  found  the  follow- 
ing extract  from  a  daily  paper  :  — 

Died  at  Charleston,  S.  C,  on  the  19th  ult,  Mrs.  Walter  Bowne,  consort 
of  Walter  Bowne,  Esq.,  of  New  York,  and  daughter  of  the  Hon.  Robert 
Southgate,  of  Scarborough,  Maine,  aged  25  years.  The  Bereaved  Husband 
and  infant  children,  the  afflicted  parents,  Brethren  and  sisters,  and  the  nu- 
merous respectable  friends  and  acquaintances  by  whom  she  was  so  justly 
respected  and  beloved  for  her  talents  and  virtues,  will  deeply  mourn  this 
early  signal  triumph  of  the  King  of  Terrors.  But  they  will  not  "  sorrow 
as  those  without  hope."  Her  immortal  spirit,  liberated  from  the  body,  is, 
we  trust,  already  admitted  to  a  clear  and  perfect,  an  immediate  and  posi- 
tive, a  soul-transforming  and  eternal  vision  of  God  and  the  Redeemer. 
Why  the  most  endearing  ties  of  nature  should  be  dissolved  almost  as 
soon  as  formed,  why  the  dreadful  law  of  mortality  should  be  executed  on 
the  most  worthy  and  dearest  objects  of  conjugal,  parental,  and  social 
love,  in  the  moment  of  sanguine  expectation  of  reciprocal  enjoyment,  is 
among  the  dark  and  mysterious  questions  in  the  book  of  Providence. 
The  ways  of  God  are  inscrutable  to  man,  "  clouds  and  darkness  are  round 
about  him,  yet  righteousness  and  judgment  are  the  habitation  of  his 
throne."  All  afflictive  events  are  readily  resolved  into  the  wisdom  of 
God.  To  his  sovereign  will,  reason  and  religion,  duty  and  interest  re- 
quire us  to  bow  with  reverence.  What  a  dark  and  gloomy  veil  is  spread 
by  the  early  death  of  our  friends  over  our  earthly  enjoyments  !  How  ten- 
derly are  we  hereby  admonished  not  to  expect  satisfaction  in  this  empty, 
fluctuating,  and  transitory  state  !  How  strongly  urged  to  place  our 
affections  on  things  above,  to  secure  an  immediate  interest  in  those 
sublime  and  durable  pleasures  which  flow  from  the  service  and  favor  of 
God  and  the  prospect  of  complete  and  endless  felicity  in  His  presence. 


A  Girl's  Life  Eighty  Years  Ago.       239 


Inscription  on  the  monument  in  Archdale  Church- 
yard,  in  Archdale  Street,  Charleston,  S.  C. :  — 

SACRED 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

ELIZA   S.   BOWNE 

Wife  of  Walter  Bowne  of  New  York, 
Daughter  of  Robert  Southgate  Esqr., 
of  Scarborough,  District  of  Maine, 
who  departed  this  life  on  the  19th 
day  of  February,  1809,  agec*  25  years. 


OF  THE 

(  UNIVERSITY  } 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 

I  University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 

University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(415)642-6753 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

apr  1 1  mi. 

APR  0  9  1993 


- 


r  1  *CQ 


MAR  1 5 199^1 


SEP  22  2003 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


BOOOaiMlBM 


: 

--: 

-w 

I  ■  > '   " 

;" 

